


The writing on the wall

by anddirtyrain



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drama, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-28 03:07:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 126,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6312919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anddirtyrain/pseuds/anddirtyrain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“My name is Alexandria Woods. You can call me Alexandria, or Woods, or better yet, nothing at all. I don't want to be your friend.” You're shocked by the blatant disdain in her words, because you don’t know her, you don’t know her and she’s already decided she hates you.</p><p>or, </p><p>Clarke never wanted to be roommates with Alexandria Woods, and every second spent in her company confirmed why -until it didn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. august

_The writing on the wall_

_Idiom_

  1. _the likelihood that something bad will happen._



.:.

You drag your suitcase behind you with one hand, the other clutching your backpack to your chest, a soda bottle hanging from the tips of your fingers which are about to lose circulation. You don’t believe in two trips. It’s a relief when you get the door to open and immediately drop your bottle on the unoccupied bed.

“What are you doing here?!” The girl on the other bed nearly yells, sitting up and furiously wiping at her cheeks. It’s not the welcome you expected for sure, and you’re too surprised to give an answer right away. You changed your plans at the last minute, and Octavia was already rooming with Raven, so you were offered the last room with an empty bed. Your new roommate is obviously the surprised brunette staring at you now, all big eyes and confusion. Her hair is all over the place and her eyes are red-rimmed and this uncommon green, like a lake more than grass. She’s beautiful.

“I’m your new roommate,” you say, trying for an easy smile.

“ _No, you’re not._ I don’t have a roommate.” Her words are measured, careful. She discreetly wipes her hands on her jean shorts and you feel kind of guilty that you apparently caught her crying. You try at solidarity.

“I’m sorry, didn’t the school let you know?”

“ _No._ I don’t understand,” she says, and you actually feel bad for a second because she looks lost, alarmed even, her eyes wide and green-grey in the crappy light of the dorm room. You want to sketch her, you want to calm her down.

“I’m sorry. I switched colleges at the last minute –switched majors, actually, and this was the only room available-“

“I know,” she says. Anger shadows over her face like a storm cloud and it throws you off. She looks at you like a predator, her lip actually lifting in the closest a human being can get to a snarl. “Because I _explicitly_ asked to be placed in an empty dorm if at all possible so-“

“Hey, don’t take it out on me now,” you say. You’ll put up with some, but you won’t let her raise her voice at you, not even 5 minutes into meeting you. “I’m sorry the school didn’t let you know in advance, but that’s not my fault.”

You throw your bag on the bed and her eyes follow it, she looks at it as if she were about to grab it and set it on fire.

“Are you sure you even have the right room?” She asks, and looks down at you even when she’s goddamn sitting down. You know that look, like you’re just a stupid blonde.

“Room 220,” you say. “Like I said, the only room with an available bed, which you know, so-” you shrug, annoyed at her demeanor now. “Hello, roomie.”

You didn’t expect homemade apple pie and a ‘Welcome’ banner, but no animosity right of the bat would have been nice.

The girl looks to the roof, breathes in and clenches her fists like she could snap someone’s neck and you’re actually wary for a second, that you’ve gotten thrown in with a psycho. The next second, it’s gone. The fight goes out of her, and she turns back to her backpack. She robotically pulls out a few notebooks and lays them down on her desk and all the while you stand there, confused, annoyed, getting fucking mad that this girl yelled at you and now is acting like you don’t even exist.

“Very well then,” she says finally, turning around to face you. “My name is Alexandria Woods. You can call me Alexandria, or Woods, or better yet, nothing at all. _I do not want to be your friend_.”

You’re shocked quiet by the blatant disdain in the words, because you don’t know her, you don’t know her and it’s like she’s already decided she hates you.

“I don’t want to be your study buddy,” she continues. “I don’t want us to paint each other’s nails.  This is an unfortunate situation but I’m sure we can get through it if we stay out of each other’s way and follow simple rules.” She sounds like an ad for STD medication, and your blood starts to boil. You can feel your cheeks getting red, because she’s the rude one here and yet you feel you’re being chastised.

“No loud music, we tell each other beforehand if people are coming over, no candles, no weird hippie incense shit-“ The word sounds strange leaving her lips, you note, like she doesn’t use it very often. “-and I don’t appreciate you eating in here and getting this place dirty. I’m not a fan of living among rats and pests.”

“Are you done?” you ask.

She nods once, hard, like her tirade was perfectly reasonable.

“Good.” You’re angry, you can’t wait to complain to Octavia and Raven, but you can’t get out of here without giving the girl –Alexandria- a piece of your mind. “No wonder you wanted to be alone. I’ve been here for five minutes and I’m ready to jump out of the window. Anyone ever tell you you’re a bit of an asshole?” She flinches when you say the last words, and you relish in it.

“Don’t worry, I’ll stay out of your way if you stay out of mine.” You quickly get your jacket out of your bag. “Clarke Griffin, by the way,” you say over your shoulder and leave the room, door open.

.:.

“She was just…really fucking rude.” You shrug. You were popular in high school, okay? And you aren’t stupid enough to think being likable isn’t important, it is. Winning personalities don’t get failed or earn a teacher’s wrath or have to sit alone during recess.  You’re not used to people rejecting you right out of the gate, not even taking one look at you and already deeming that you’re not worthy of their time.  “She flipped out when she saw me arrive.”

“If I’d thought I had an entire room to myself only to be given a roommate at the last minute, I would have flipped out too, to be honest - _regardless_ of how great and amazing you are, Clarke.”

“What do you want?” You ask, smiling at Raven where she rests on your bed, bad leg propped up on your still unpacked suitcase. You think of sleepovers in 10th grade when she first moved and holding her hand through the aftermath of her accident. She winks at you. You will end up 10 dollars poorer that night after paying for pizza and Woods will bite your head off in three days when she suspects one of her beers disappeared. You won’t mind.

“It wasn’t just flipping out.” You tell Raven. “She legit looked at me like I was the cause of all her problems.”

“Go the RA, then,” Raven tells you. “Get rid of her, see if you can change rooms or something.”

You considered it before, briefly, but you are no quitter, and leaving after one day would make you feel as if you’ve lost somehow, and you make a promise to yourself right then not to lose to that girl.

“It’s fine, I’ll just see how it goes for a few days. Besides, I don’t want to give her the satisfaction, it’s my room as much as it’s hers.” It’s a good room, the last one on the floor, and you have a nice view of the parking lot in front of campus, the street further away, and the poor bastards dragging their feet home after a long day of class.

“She has a fucking mini fridge tucked in her bedside table.” Octavia says, poking around on the other side of this invisible line you’ve drawn on the floor already between your stuff and Alexandria’s stuff. “Who even has that?” Octavia says again, turning to face you two.

“You and Raven wanted one,” you remind her. You’ve made plans already for your second semester, hoping against hope that you’ll be able to get a triple room for all of you, or maybe even a quad. You’d deal with another roommate if the three of you could be together. You’ll get your own mini fridge then.

“Yeah, but we didn’t get it, that’s the point. It’s not fair. Why do nice things happen to bad people?”

“Nice things happen to anyone with enough money,” Raven adds helpfully.

You don’t know if the girl -Woods- has money. She probably does. You don’t care about it, you know you’re lucky not to have to care about it, especially when both of your best friends do and you’re aware of that. And you hate putting people in boxes. But you’re an artist, and looking at the way she moved, so controlled, stiff, like a bird who’d never been allowed any freedom; you can’t help but wonder how she grew up.

Money would explain it, old money perhaps, peter pan dresses, no elbows on the table and a family orchard somewhere in the south. You obliterate the thought from your mind _now_ , but the first time you saw her...you couldn’t help but think that girl was a damn work of art. People like that have good stories. Regardless of how freaking rude and angry she was when you first met -or maybe _because_ of that- a part of you wants to know hers. Seems like it'd be good.

.:.

 

The first week of class the seniors put into place an ‘all freshmen must obey seniors’ for the day rule, more like _all freshmen must be the senior’s bitches_ for a day, really. You see your old classmate Monty walking around campus with a bag that’s not his and it’s a little funny, a little bothersome.

You’re freshmen but the seniors don’t mess with you too much because Bellamy is Octavia’s brother and you and Raven might as well be Octavia’s Siamese twins. (Triplets?) And with Bellamy being a senior comes some sort of protection, along with invitations to the best parties. And no one messes with Woods because-just because. And you notice because you can’t _not_ notice. She’s always alone around campus and her hair is this big wavy mess barely contained by braids and she commands attention.

You have two classes together, in the big amphitheater that seats like a hundred students, and when the frat boys give everybody a little bit of hell before letting them into the classroom, Alexandria Woods just walks right through -and they let her.

Resting bitch face doesn’t cut it, she constantly looks like she would murder a man just for breathing the wrong way in her direction; and you don’t think any of those 22-year-old, 180 pounds, 6 foot 3 football players would dare play a prank on her, or catcall her, or anything really. You can respect that. You’ve been on the receiving end of that angry stare. She’s terrifying.

She’s also tiny. Like, you’re pretty sure she’s the same height as you, maybe a little bit taller, but not by much. But she carries herself like she was 10 feet tall and everyone around her notices. At least, you’ve noticed. You want to ask her why. You don’t intend on talking to her at all.

.:.

Alexandria Woods is an early riser, you find that out the hard way.

You made the executive decision not to have any classes before 10 am even if it meant additional days of college, but Woods, fucking Woods, is up at 7 am sharp, every single. goddamn. day.

You wake up as she gets out of bed and collects stuff for her shower, and you have only managed to barely fall back asleep by the time she comes back, hair wet and dripping and staining her shirt. You start to reconsider your old money theory when you see she showers like a damn soldier, never more than 15 minutes between leaving the room and strolling back inside. No one who’s grown up luxuriously would do that, you think. Except if she was a major control freak, which might not be that far off the mark.

She walks around, puts her bag together, and leaves. You sink back into sleep.

.:.

You and Woods don’t talk at all the first couple of weeks, when you’re all still finding your footing.

You get the hang of your classes, and not once do you regret switching from Biology to Art, because it's everything you wanted and more. You figure out a way to hang out with Raven and Octavia despite your conflicting schedules, you spend quite a bit of time having sleepovers at their dor room, all in all -college treats you well.

You and your roomate barely see each other, in fact. She leaves when you’re still more or less asleep, and you get back when she’s already buried in her bed. It works, for a while.

.:.

His name is Daniel, you think.

Bellamy’s frat house throws the best parties, and it didn’t take very long for you to get comfortably boozed up, to find someone who stared at your legs a little too long and drag them back to your dorm room.

The lights are on and you like it that way, and maybe he’s going at your neck a little too hard with the sucking but he’s warm and heavy on top of you and you feel good.

You drag your hand down his chest and hook it on his belt, bringing him closer, and moan when he grinds against you. He finally gets the hint and you think things will go your way now and then you meet a pair of green eyes over his shoulder.

“What the fuck?!”

You push David off of you, more surprised than anything. Lexa just stands there, face unperturbed.

“I wondered when you would notice I was here,” she says, and you’d forgotten how annoying her tone of voice could be, so calm and fucking collected. You hadn’t heard it in a while. You’re drunk and you were _this_ close to getting laid and you don’t have the upper hand here. You don’t like it.

“You're so fucking messed up, Woods,” you say, running your hand over your hair.

She doesn’t flinch. Adam, Daniel, what’s his name, just sits in the bed, looking between the two of you, his hard-on noticeable to everyone in the room. He’s most likely too drunk to feel embarrassed -or he just doesn’t care.

“Maybe we can take this to my room?” he asks you. “I can kick out my roommate, he won’t mind.” But you know the mood has been killed.

“No, it’s fine,” you say, and his face falls like a toddler who just dropped his ice cream on the dirt. “Sorry.”

“No, sure, it’s cool. I’ll see you later?” he asks, and you seriously doubt it, but kiss him nonetheless, so Woods will see more than anything. You want to push her buttons, make her uncomfortable. D leaves quite quickly after that, but she’s still staring blankly at you, unperturbed. It’s infuriating.

“Yes?” you ask.

“We agreed we would let each other know if we had... _visitors_. I will not apologize for arriving at my room, hoping to get some sleep only to find-”

She’s still talking when you leave.

So maybe you’re intrigued by her,  by the anger and coldness that seems to radiate off her in waves. Maybe you're annoyed that she's so perfect and perfectly put together, and that you can see she thinks she's so much better than you so it gives you a sick satisfaction leaving her with words inside her mouth. You’re a little drunk and a little high and you hope Alexandria Woods chokes on them.

  
  



	2. september

"Will you pick up after yourself?”

You look up from your laptop and meet Woods’ eyes, a familiar mix of disappointment and exasperation there. At least you can always count on that.

“I’m sitting right here, I’ll throw it away later.” It’s just a granola bar wrapper.

“Later, after pests have invaded our room.”

She’s so dramatic, God. If you hadn’t discovered she was an English and Political Science double major (Jesus no wonder she’s insane), you’d have thought she was one of those theater kids. Lexa didn’t just prance around in a high horse, she seemed to command the whole damn army.

“It’s not going to grow legs and walk into your side, okay? Chill.”

“Mockery is not the product of a strong mind, Clarke.”

“Who put that stick up your ass, Alexandria?”

.:.

You walk into your bedroom in the late afternoon, intent on grabbing your books and meeting Octavia and Raven for a study session, when the music coming from inside stops you. Alexandria is never home, you almost never see her, and so the fact that she’s actually in your shared room is a surprise.

You open the door quietly, and find she’s -you’d say ‘sprawled’ on the bed, but it is much too elegant for the word. She’s on her stomach, eyes on her laptop, a notebook open and pages scattered around. It makes her seem normal, human, more than the annoying machine you’ve come to expect the past few weeks.

You know the song, some popular indie tune everyone and their mother were all over in the summer.

“Vampire Weekend?” You ask, and she jumps a little, clearly not having heard your arrival. “Didn’t peg you for the type.”

She says nothing, instead running her hand through messy hair, and you like catching her off-guard, you think you’d like to do it more often.

“I thought you’d go for instrumental music,” you say. “Vivaldi, maybe?”

This infuriatignly blank, half-lidded look she gets is firmly in place once again.

“I gather you’re studying him in class,” she  says, as if that would be the only way you know such a name -and it is, damn it.  You want to flip her off, a little, maybe say that you’re perfectly capable of listening to fancy ass music - but you don’t –your silence is enough confirmation of the truth.

You huff and turn around, gathering your books,  tapping your foot to the beat of the song.  You’re this close to mumbling the lyrics you remember under your breath when Alexandria notices.

She turns the music off.

.:.

  
You wake up from a nightmare, those you try to push down but still manage to raise their ugly heads when you least expect it. In your nightmare, you are back in 11th grade, back to walking through your front door and meeting your best friend’s father’s eyes, and _knowing_ just from the look there that something terrible had happened. You figure there are worse nightmares to have, drowning, or dying, but you still hate it, still wake up every time with your heart pounding and sweat across your forehead. It’s only the third one this year, maybe, so you figure it’s getting better, but you know you’re never going to forget.

You turn around to the expanse of your room. The first tendrils of sunlight slip in lazily through the blinds of the window. Your roommate sits at her desk, typing, back ramrod straight, still dressed in last night's clothes.

You take a quick look at your cell phone screen.

“It’s 6 am,” you say, voice scratchy and dry. “Did you ever go to sleep?”

Alexandria turns around and fixes you with one of her usual stares, but the tiredness and red in her eyes decreases the effect.

“That does not concern you, Clarke.”

You hate the way she says ‘Clarke’. You’ve never heard someone put so much contempt in a single syllable. It throws you off a little, how no one says your name like she does; makes it almost sounds like a different language, a different word altogether.

And even tired and clearly sleep deprived, she managed to do it, raising a proud eyebrow to booth. You raise your hands in defense.

For the first time you don’t have it in you to argue with her.

.:.

“Is your roommate still being a bitch?” Octavia asks, draped over your stomach and half hanging off the bed. Their room is a mess, but it’s homely, feels lived in.

“I guess. I don’t know.” You shrug as much as you can in your position. “We don’t really talk.”

“She’s hot,” Raven says off-handedly.

“She’s hot,” Octavia agrees.

You say nothing. She _is_ a pretty girl, and you’ve always had a weakness for pretty, pretty girls, but she’s too damn proud and angry –you’re not sure at what- to be your friend. Too damn uptight to be someone you flirt with, do more with -so you let it go. You can just live together, you guess. Exist around each other and be nothing more than that. (You’re wrong.)

“I realized she’s on my 8 am class in mondays,” Raven says. “She’s legit the only person who looks awake.“

“She might be a cyborg,” Octavia says.

“How do you know what a cyborg is? You hate sci-fi,” Raven points out.

“Been makin’ friends,” Octavia drawls out. Later you will ask her and get the name ‘Lincoln’ out of her. Now, curiosity gets the better of you.

“How is she in class?” you ask Raven.

She shrugs. “Quiet. Always alone, too. Does group projects by her damn self like she’s too good for the rest of us.”

You nod, because it fits with what you know of her, but it doesn’t...sit right you.

.:.

You wake up at 9:35 am, just in time to take a quick shower and have breakfast and run to your 10:15 class. It’s perfect timing, really. You stretch, feeling your muscles loosen up from the tightness of sleep -you notice the lump on the bed on the other side of the room.

Woods is still in bed. You didn’t even register the blessing that it was not waking up this morning when she left but you do now. You wonder if she slept through her alarm, though it seems unlikely. You briefly wonder if she’s dead, but after a quick stare at the bundled up sheets (you can barely see brown hair peeking out at the top) you see it moves up and down so at least she’s breathing.

You wonder if you should say something. Be a good roommate and like, ask, maybe?

You take a deep breath.

“Yo, Woods!” you exclaim, but she doesn’t seem to hear you. She doesn’t move at all and this small tinge of worry floods your chest because while you think she’s annoying as all hell you would never want anything bad to actually happen to the girl. “Hey… It’s like 9:40 already.”

You wait for an answer but none comes. You start walking to her bed when she turns around, faces you with tired eyes, but too awake to have been asleep only moments before. Was she just ignoring you?

“Thank you Clarke, but I’m not going to class today,” she says evenly, in this monotone that you’ve never heard from her before because she’s always managed to infuse some sort of annoyance or contempt into your every conversation so far. The ‘thank you’ scares you the most though, because if there was ever a red flag that was it.

“Are you sick?” you ask, because it’s the nice thing to do.

“I’m not well,” she says, and turns back around to face the wall. You don’t try to keep her talking as she obviously doesn’t want to.

By the time you come back from lunch with Octavia she will not have moved at all. When you come back late that night, slightly tipsy after a frat party, she’ll still be in bed, and you’ll wonder if she moved at all since that morning, but the next day she’ll be back to her routine. It won’t matter and you won’t ask.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading. kudos and comments are greatly appreciated!


	3. october

You spend the entire month waking up to various alarming things.

.:.

You wake up to someone huffing. That’s what it sounds like, this choked up little expulsion of air, over and over and over. Your fogged up brain has about two seconds of wondering if Alexandria snuck some guy inside while you were asleep or if she’s going to town by herself but a quick peek to her bed proves it’s empty.  The floor, however, it’s not.

You have to blink a few times to understand what’s going on, and when you do, it doesn’t make you any less confused.

She’s holding herself in a plank, thighs trembling from exertion.

She’s wearing pajamas and her hair is loose and curly and wild, hanging over her face, and her entire body is stiff but for her trembling legs as she holds herself on her forearms and the tips of her toes. _What the fuck?_

She drops down to her hands, and starts doing push ups, the little huffs that woke you up starting again. She’s furious, pushing against the floor and you can see her arms shake with effort after the fourth one, but she’s relentless. You quietly grab your cell phone and turn around to face the wall, burrowing further under your blankets. You lower the bothersome screen brightness before opening the groupchat you have with Octavia and Raven, and quickly typing. They’re probably asleep, but it doesn’t hurt to try.

 

 **2:34 am**  
**ClarkeGriffindor**  
she is doing push ups!!!!

 

The sounds don’t stop, and you think she might have actually started to clap between push ups like a goddamn frat boy trying to prove his worth. You drag your hand down your face, because it’s late and you're tired and you have half a mind to say something but she seemed so focused you don’t...you don’t want to intrude. It’s weird, but you feel -no, you _know-_ this isn’t something you were meant to see.

 

 **7:10 am  
** **Raven (your) Rey(es)  
** what

 

 **7:16 am  
** **Raven (your) Rey(es)  
** Clarke?

 

 **7:16 am  
** **Agent O  
** It’s 7 am she’s still asleep

 

 **7:17 am  
** **Raven (your) Rey(es)  
** True

 

 **9:25 am  
** **ClarkeGriffindor  
** So I woke up in the middle of the night to my roommate doing freaking push ups

 

 **9:25 am  
** **Raven (your) Rey(es)  
** How do you know what a push up looks like?

 

 **9:26 am  
** **ClarkeGriffindor  
** I resent that

 

 **9:26 am  
** **Agent O  
** the real question is did you try to jump her?

 

 **9:26 am  
** **Agent O  
** Bc im pretty sure of my sexuality and i would have. 

 

 **9:27 am  
** **Raven (your) Rey(es)  
** Octavia comments like that make ME not sure of your sexuality

 

 **9:27 am  
** **ClarkeGriffindor  
** Focus

 

 **9:27 am  
** **Agent O  
** I can respect exercising but that’s just weird.

 

 **9:27 am  
** **Raven (your) Rey(es)  
** idk if youre telling us bc a)your worried she’s gearing up to kill you in your sleep or b) you liked it

 

 **9:27 am  
** **Raven (your) Rey(es)  
** but either way that’s psycho behaviour. stay away from her. im sirious

 

 **9:28 am  
** **Agent O  
** Hey sirius im blake

 

 **9:28 am  
** **Agent O  
** Get it? :D

 

 **9:29 am  
** **ClarkeGriffindor  
** I hate you both

.:.

Alexandria seems as uptight as always that afternoon, yes, but also tired. Weary. You wonder what is it she carries around that keeps her back so stiff and straight. What makes her work out at 2 in the morning while everyone is asleep. You have to agree with Octavia and Raven,  the previous night was weird as hell, but it didn’t peg you as exercising at all. It looked more like an exorcism.

.:.

You wake up, for the first time in such a long while, solely because your body wants you to. Bright sunlight comes in through the blinds, and you stretch contentedly, allowing yourself a moan -which you regret when you remember you’re not alone in this room. Alexandria sits in her bed, reading. The next thing you remember is that it’s wednesday, and you have a class at 10.

“ _Shit_ , what time is it?” You throw the covers off, sitting up and looking for your cell.

“It’s 11:30,” Alexandria answers in that bored monotone of hers.

You see her sitting in bed, long legs spread out in front of her. How she’s more or less the same height as you and has such longer legs is baffling. She’s wearing mismatched socks, and the sight is ridiculous. You realize you've been staring at her legs longer than appropriate when she clears her throat.

“Wasn’t there class today?” The fact she’s still here gives you a moment to breathe, because maybe you actually don’t have anywhere to be. It’s not unheard of for class to be cancelled. Last month the school had a surprise fire drill and no one went back to class afterward.

“ _My_ class was cancelled,” she answers. “I do not know about yours, however.”

Shit.

“You couldn't have woken me?!” You jump out of bed, because you had a paper to hand in, and the class ends at 12 and, just shit, shit, _shit_. Alexandria’s eyes follow you as you trip over your feet trying to find a pair of jeans. You take off your pants and start pulling your jeans on regardless if she’s sitting right there. “You were right here! You really couldn’t have woken me up?!”

You stand up and face the wall, taking your shirt off and pulling on a bra quickly. You decide to grab yesterday’s shirt and pull it on.

“I’m not your mother, Clarke,” Lexa says, sounding a little choked up. You’re so mad, because here you thought she might actually be a decent human being underneath of her shit.

“ _I_ would have -I actually _did-_ ” A month ago you’d asked her if she was skipping class when you found her still in bed. It’s what _people_ do.  You shove your laptop in your bag after quickly tying your laces. “You’re an ass,” you spit out before leaving the room in a hurry.

.:.

You wake up to crying. It’s still dark outside, the dark that can only be the middle of the night. Everything is quiet except for your roommate crying in her sleep.

The sound is heartbreaking, these pitiful little gasps and the rustling of sheets, and unintelligible mumbling underneath her breath. You drag your hand down your face tiredly, because you know you’re going to have to wake her up. You throw the covers off and shiver against the cold of the room, goosebumps down your thighs.

“Hey,” you say, standing in the space that separates your beds. She’s clutching the sheets in a white knuckled grip, her head thrown to the side, brow furrowed. “Hey, Alexandria. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

She doesn’t seem to hear you, too caught up in her own misery, and when she sobs the sound actually makes your bones tremble.

“Alexandria?” You walk closer to her bed. The thought of touching her is wild and foreign, but you don’t see another way. She’s curled in on herself, her full lips turned into a pout and tears running down her temples. She sobs again, and it makes you ache. She looks so young, so _scared_. You throw caution to the wind.

You’ve never been able to stand idly by while people suffer.

You sit down beside her sleeping form, but instead of shaking her you put your arms around her gently. “Sshhh,” you whisper under your breath, gearing up for her to wake up and yell at you, but she doesn’t.

“It’s okay, you’re okay.” The half hug is awkward, an arm over folded ones, the other rubbing warmth into her cold shoulder. It’s strange, because you’ve never been this close to her before, you don’t think you’ve ever touched her apart from brushing her side in passing, but you’ve never seen someone that distressed and not done something. You don’t know why your first thought is to comfort her instead of scream at her to wake up, you don’t get a chance to think about it.

Her cries quiet down to whimpers, and you lift your head up to look at her. Her cheeks are red and tear stained. No one should look that beautiful while they suffer. You go back to your bed, hands still warm.

The following morning Alexandria leaves on the clock as usual, not sparing a glance your way. She looks more weary, now that you give her more than a once over. It’s feels like a secret, the previous night, one that not even she knows about.

.:.

  
You push the black stiletto pumps into your bag, on top of the frilly blue dress that is your Halloween costume. You’ve painstakingly painted red bloodstains on it already, and carefully ripped it in places in what Octavia called the most ‘pretentious intentional mess” she’s ever seen.

You’re going as zombie Alice in Wonderland, because you appreciate the gore and blood of it all as much as the next person, but you couldn’t part ways with the cute little blue number and the white apron. Raven said with the blond hair and blue eyes it was bordering on ridiculous that you hadn’t dress up as her already, and you really didn’t need to comply with the stereotype, but you ignored them. The white pantyhouse do really good things for your thighs.

You can feel Alexandria’s eyes trail after you as you get your bag ready. She sits on her bed like it’s a damn throne, even in sweatpants with the university logo stamped on the side and a hoodie, large book open on her legs. It’s kind of sad that she’s staying in during Halloween and you have half a mind to invite her to come along, if you didn’t think she would say no and then turn it around into an insult.

.:.

You attend the massive Halloween party, Raven the Astronaut and Octavia the Police Officer at your side. It’s thrown by the son of some rich guy in his pretty shiny mansion half an hour from campus, and Octavia’s friend Lincoln managed to get you all invited. You really start to appreciate the tall, quiet man you’ve only met in passing. Octavia likes him, and that’s enough for all of you, but you realize that he doesn’t drink much the entire night, and keeps his hands respectfully on O’s waist when she definitely looks like she wants them somewhere else. You all have fun, go through some sort of haunted house that’s been set up in the backyard and snoop around the mansion hand in hand, giggling your hearts out. You turn down a pretty redhead in favor of dancing some more with your friends, and your feet ache by the time you leave. Lincoln calls you all a cab, and then gets in the front seat to make sure you get back to campus safely, even when he has to return to the party later.

Raven delivers you to your floor with a brief hug, and you stumble back into your room at roughly 2 am in the morning, too uncoordinated, intoxicated, to measure your footsteps and not bang your shoulder against the wall, waking up your roommate.She sits up with a start, hair flying everywhere and her eyes very wide. If you were less out of it you’d notice that for a few surprised minutes her walls were not up.

“You are drunk,” she says simply, eyeing the way you try and fail to take off your ankle boots. You were so smart for leaving the stilettos in Raven's room and settling for these. So smart. You bet Alexandria is real smart, too, but she's also mad.

 Her entire countenance radiates annoyance in waves, but she’s damn pretty, you’re sorry the lights are off.

“And you’re a bitch,” you answer her, the alcohol coursing through your blood making you more crass than usual. You do not notice her flinch. You don’t see the way her eyes become even more guarded. You get one boot off and get to work on the other.

“But,” you sigh, accepting the catastrophe that is being unable to remove your one remaining shoe, “-but you’re beautiful, you know?”

“You just called me a bitch,” she says, and you let your head fall to the side as you appraise her. It feels very heavy. The air, your brain, the way she measures every word before she speaks. You’re tired. Isn’t she tired, too?

“Not mutually exclusive,” you say. You try, at least, it comes out sounding more like ‘mutual exclusion’ but you think she gets the gist of it. “And you’re sad. You’re so sad. I don’t know why.” You think of her crying in her sleep, looking so small instead of the 10 feet tall girl everyone sees. “Maybe that’s why you’re so mean. I hope you weren’t.”

Your head feels heavy and your vodka soaked stomach turns, but you’re telling the truth.

“You hope I wasn’t sad, or you hope I wasn’t mean?” Alexandria asks, and all you can think is that she has such a grandiose, sad name, too. You feel like the Alexandrias of this world might have been soldiers or greek princesses or leaders, and they all might have carried themselves the way this one does.

You think you smile, you’re not sure, but you don’t answer, you just fall asleep on top of your covers, clothes still on, boot still in place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> about the chat group names: 'rey' means king in spanish. octavia loves perry the platypus and wrote agent o as her name in clarke's cellphone herself. clarke says she’s a griffindor but most tests say she’s a slytherin. she refuses to acknowledge them. 
> 
> you can find me on reyandsmoak.tumblr.com if that’s your thing. kudos and comments are much appreciated!


	4. november

Alexandria acts different with you, after Halloween. She doesn’t pick fights about you being a mess as often, doesn’t let you have a piece of her mind about your dirty floor or stealing her beers (you only did it once more, just to see if she’d yell at you about it. She didn’t. She just sighed like a martyr cursed with, well, _you._ )

You know you got home drunk Halloween night and you know you talked to her but you can’t remember anything clearly past telling her she was a bitch. You don’t know why that’s what stands out in your memory.  The way her face had soured, how the clear eyes and open expression had become guarded so quickly. You don’t know why you had to be such an asshole when she hadn’t done anything to warrant it, and you want to ask her, to apologize, because somewhere along the line, fighting with her became better than being ignored as if you do not exist.

(You know exactly where in said line that happened, it was that moment you found her crying in her sleep and wondered why as you calmed her down.)

Three days after Halloween, in the middle of Raven and Octavia’s room, rewarding yourself with wine coolers after every answer you get right while you study -you remember you called her beautiful. Your cheeks flame up. You almost wish for the previous uncertainty.

.:.  


“Could you bother to pick your clothes off the ground?”

She stands, back straight, hands clasped behind her back. You contain a small, amused smile. It feels like you might be teetering off the edge of being actually, like, _civil,_ with each other.

“Done and done, Elsa,” you say, while picking up your hoodie and a few dirty clothes that didn’t make it into the laundry basket.

She stares at you for a beat too long, blinking. She looks a little insulted.

“My name is Alexand-”

“I know. I’m _joking._ ” You want to laugh but you don’t think that would go over well. “Elsa...like in Frozen? Disney film. Came out two years ago….”

 _“Oh_. Yes.”

“You haven’t seen Frozen? Oh my God. Did the amish raise you? No, wait, amish kids probably have seen frozen.”

She sets her mouth in a straight line, and this is so _ridiculous_ you buzz with it.

“Mockery is not-”

“The product of a strong mind. I know, Woods.” You throw your clothes in their place. “You need to find a new tune.”

.:.

Her name is Niylah.

She kisses with just the right amount of tongue, and damn, you dig that. Girls are always such better kissers.

And then she’s trailing kisses down your stomach and you’re surprised because, well, you weren’t expecting that. She goes for it, and it’s been months for you so you’re not exactly quiet, but it’s the middle of the day so you hope there’s no one in the dorms right now. College hasn’t been good to your sex life, between the homework and the communal showers and the fact you share a room with a perfect stranger -but Niylah makes you forget all of it like it’s her job.

 

It’s an hour later when you finally lay back against your pillows (your mother had insisted you take at least three, and got a decent mattress too). Niylah is warm against your side and her hair smells amazing and you could just fall asleep for a little while, until she inevitably gets dressed and heads off. You’re letting your eyelids droop when the door drifts open.

You’re so glad the sheet is covering what needs to be covered, because your roommate stands there, mouth gaping open like a fish on land. Her eyes are open wide and blinking slowly and you wonder if she’s surprised to have caught you yet again with your pants down or with the fact your companion is a girl or maybe just because it's 3 in the afternoon. Niylah hides under the covers and laughs against your shoulder. You're shameless as you stare up at Alexandria and she turns around and leaves.

Maybe you should have warned her, but you don’t have her number, and it's not exactly like you planned for this to happen.

  


Alexandria gets back to your room late -for her, at least- almost 9 pm. She looks cold in only the t-shirt she had on this afternoon. It makes you uncomfortable, the fact that it’s your fault she felt exiled from her own room. You want to apologize, but you’ve never been good at it, or talking to her.

“So…” You sit on the edge of her bed, covering your hands with your sweater. “About this afternoon….”

“I am _not_ apologizing for walking in on you and whoever it is you're sleeping with this week.” You _were_ going to apologize, but you hate the judgement in her tone.

“ _Are you trying to slut shame me?_ ”

“No, Clarke, I’m trying to get you to understand that I live here too.” She turns to face you then, eyes a little fiery, tired and she has a point, you know she has a point. You huff.

“Okay, I get it. I'm sorry.” You can tell she’s surprised at the apology, pleased, even. “You know, I wouldn’t mind if you brought people back here,” you tell her. And then, because you've always built something with one hand only to knock it down with the other: “Maybe if you weren’t so uptight you’d get to bring guys back here too. Do you ever chill?” It’s familiar, the dig, the trying to rile her up. And lately it hasn’t resulted in fights, but half-assed little wars where you try to one up each other.

“I don’t feel like fighting, Clarke,” she says. But you’re a bit of a brat sometimes, and you actually like talking to her when she isn’t all high and mighty.

“I’m not fighting, I’m telling you you need to get laid,” you say. She flinches, and it makes you stop because -fuck, if she’s been through something awful like an assault and here you are letting her catch you in bed with people you might actually throw up, but she just stands up and gathers her stuff before you can ask or apologize.

“No, Clarke,” she says finally, shower caddy bag in hand. “I haven’t _‘chilled_ ’ one day in my life.” The slang sounds weird coming from her mouth, and your lips pull up in a smile when you realize she’s cracking something of a joke, whether she realizes it or not. It sounds like just this side of banter, with you.

She slips into the nondescript flipflops everyone seems to have to brave the gross ass communal bathroom floors. So she’s human after all. She’s almost out the door when she turns around, and the weight of her stare makes you look up.

“And by the way, no, I don’t have any interest in bringing guys back here because I am really, _really_ gay _._ ”

She turns and leaves, and the words ring out in the silence afterward. Those -coupled with her expression- make you laugh out loud.

.:.

You’re studying in the same room at the same time for the first time since the semester started, almost, _almost_ together, and the silence is comfortable, easy. Some sort of tension broke that afternoon after Niylah, and you like it.

“Will you ever tell me why you hated my guts the minute we met?” You ask teasingly, a smile playing at the corner of your lips, eyebrow raising a little.

“I did not hate you, Clarke.” She answers, without looking up from her laptop. "I was simply surprised.”

“You bit my head off,” you say, but there’s no bite to it, not really.

She looks up at your tone, green eyes pale in the afternoon sun.

“I sort of did, didn’t I?” She smiles or maybe it's a trick of the lighting.

.:.

For the first time since school started, you don’t get a heads up from Bellamy.

When you, Raven and Octavia step inside their dorm room, both beds and desks are covered in foam -much like everyone else's in the building.

Raven stares wide-eyed at the mess. “What the…”

“Fuck,” Octavia finishes for her.

Raven is already charging through her desk to see if whatever mechanic thing she was working on went unharmed (you don’t know what is, you don’t have the courage to ask, either).

Octavia plops down on the mess, laughing as she rolls on the soapy foam, and it warrants mirror disbelieving looks from both you and Raven.

“Oh come on, this is like a goddamn movie. This is what I signed up for when I decided to go to college.”

“My pressure regulator is fine, they actually Saran-wrapped it before throwing that shit in here.”

“How very thoughtful,” Octavia says, throwing a ball of foam to Raven, who actually smiles when it hits her. You do too, because it _is_ a little crazy and a little like a movie.

You stay just outside the room, watching as people walk out into the hallway in states ranging from laughter to annoyance to anger.  Someone managed to get a damn foam machine inside to mess with everyone. _Everyone_ . You stop laughing. _Your bed._

 _“Shit.”_ You climb the stairs two at a time, O’s scream of “ _run, Clarke, ru_ _n_!” lost behind you as you hurry toward your room. It’s only funny when it's not  _your_ mattress you're going to have to put up to dry.

When you get there, there’s only a bit of foam at the door, but the rest of the room is as you left it.

Alexandria sits on her bed as usual, her laptop on her thighs. No one bothers her, ever, so it was expected she’d get off easy. But, your side of the room.

“Hey,” you call out to get her attention. She looks up, eyes meeting yours. “How come they didn’t do my bed?”

“I don’t know, Clarke.” She answers.

You smile to yourself. _You_ know.

.:.

“Is everything alright?”

You’re too desperate searching through your bags to realize Alexandria is speaking to you first, which is weird enough on its own, but when you eventually come up for air after turning inside out your third and last backpack -you find it in yourself to answer.

“My notes. I can’t -I had them on this USB and I can’t find it.” You throw off your bedcovers, because maybe the plastic little shit is swimming there, somehow? You’re not the most organized thing, it’s a possibility as any other. Though that maybe a black hole swallowed seems more and more likely.

“Do you not have the file saved to your computer?” Alexandria asks, and you are a bit surprised that she’s engaging with you this much, because though you’re no longer aggressive with each other she’s not one to talk much. You appreciate it.

“No, can you believe?” You turn around to look at her, and the way she’s paying attention to you, it throws you a little. “I usually share with Octavia and Raven so we pass it around but-” You shrug.

“It’s for our english test tomorrow, isn’t it?” She asks, and you nod. It’s one of the two you have together, and she always sits up front. “Don’t your friends have it?” Alexandria asks again, and she’s so polite, her questions phrased so...you would have said ‘stiffly’, a month ago, but now you’d go with ‘elegantly’. It’s like someone ripped her right out of a Victorian novel. But you can tell she’s interested, that she actually cares.

“Raven says she doesn’t, and Octavia is with her boyfriend so she turned her cell phone off and-”

Alexandria pushes the notebook on her desk toward you. You stare at it.

“I studied in advance,” she offers as an explanation. “Plus, I actually did the assigned reading,” she says, almost teasing.

You look at the opened notebook, paragraphs upon paragraphs of neat handwriting in black ink. It’s probably better than the notes you were looking for in the first place.

“Thank you.” You smile to yourself. “You’re sweet,” you tell her.

She stares at you, blinking at your words, caught off guard for the first time since you’ve met her.

“I’m n-”

“Yeah you are, deep down.” You take the notebook and wave it. “I’ve seen it now.” You wink at her. “You should let other people see it too.”

Octavia arrives at 11 pm that night with your USB in hand and a hickey on her neck, thanking you for saving her life without your knowledge. You don’t give her the 3rd degree, Alexandria’s pages upon pages of notes enough to get you to at least a B. You’re glad she’s asleep already when Octavia arrives, you don’t want her to know you got your USB back. What she did still means something even with it. 

 

.:.

Reaching your room might actually be the hardest thing you’ve ever done, but when you get there you get such a feeling of accomplishment you can’t help but laugh at yourself, and want to pat yourself on the back, and then actually try and do that. You notice Alexandria staring at you a few minutes after you enter, and you feel silly then, of course, patting yourself on the back in the middle of your room, when your bed is right there.

“You smell like…”

You can’t help but giggle.

“It’s weed,” you say, covering your mouth because your laugh just, like, pours out. “Monty and Jasper grew it on their dorm room, _can you believe_?”

Alexandria doesn’t answer right away, and you think it might be appropriate to look at her, so you really do look at her, and she’s beautiful, and not as mean as you thought, and you think you might actually get to be friends. But then you remember you and Octavia and Raven are always talking about getting a triple room these days and this inexplicable sadness comes over you, because you might actually miss your roommate's green, green eyes.

“Marijuana is a gateway drug of addiction to other drugs, Clarke,” Alexandria says, face serious. She’s so serious, all the time. You’d like to hear her laugh.

“Huh?” You don’t really get what she’s saying. And then you remember you were sitting in Jasper’s bean bag and their entire room was filled with smoke and you sat there for hours and you start to understand what this might be about. “We’re in D.C., it’s legal.”

“To smoke it in a home where the owner permits it, yes. If you’re on federal land you can still be arrested for possessing it.”

“Huh?” She uses _so many_ words. Your heart is pounding hard and you feel good and heavy and you just, _really, really_ want to play Scrabble. So you say so.

“Wanna play Scrabble?” You ask Alexandria, because Raven and O are in their room already and you think maybe Alexandria needs to play too and chill for a little bit.

“You’re high. It’s 2 am.”

“So you don’t wanna play?” You pout, trying and failing to get your thumbs inside your pockets.  “Come on Alexandria, please. Please? I’ll go easy on you. _Please_?”

You think she sighs but you don’t wait for her answer before you’re taking the box from underneath your bed and setting up the board on top of the mattress.

“There. Come on!” You sit down and she gingerly sits down in front of you, keeping her distance. You accept that you’re going to have to be the one to start the game.

“Clarke?” She calls out softly, and you’ve never heard her voice sound quite like that. “This is Scrabble, you are moving the letters around like you're playing chess,“ she says. Has her voice always been like this? It sounds so rich, so deep, like it actually touches your skin and leaves it tingling. You want her to keep talking.

You move your piece, a ‘C’ for Clarke.

“One two three, your turn.” You look up at her, waiting. She looks as though she may laugh and that’s just…. It's crazy. It’s _wow_. “You remind me of the badlands, you know?” You tell her then, you don’t see a reason not to.

“Badlands?” Her brow scrunches up in confusion and you have to hold your own hand not to touch it.

“The Badlands, in Utah. We saw pictures in Image Theory class.” They were so pretty, and you don’t think you can make it justice, but you want to try. “It’s this eroded dry mess most of the year, right? But sometimes...this purple wildflowers spring up from between the stone and they make everything look so _beautiful._ ” You sigh.  “It’s this rare phen-” You giggle. “Phen-”

“A rare phenomenon?”

You nod so fast everything blurrs.

“But they die right away. They need water to stay alive but they can't get it so they die. But...just for a moment, everything's not grey but pink and purple and yellow…For a moment, the world is so much more beautiful because of them. _You_ remind me of that place.” You don’t know how, exactly, but she does, she does.

Alexandria smiles. Those fulls lips of her stretch in a smile. You can't see her teeth but her mouth is so happy, she looks so nice.

”Like right now! See? What’s that?“ You point to her smile. You want to touch it. Her lips are so pink. She looks so beautiful when she smiles, so young and kind. In that moment she’s just a pretty girl and you’ve always had a weakness for pretty, pretty girls.

The world suddenly tilts on its axis and it takes you a bit to realize she’s pushed down onto your pillow.

“Go to sleep, Clarke.” You do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clarke and Lexa are finally able to...stand each other?? It's great.
> 
> The Badlands high!Clarke talks about are a real and beautiful place, if you haven't heard of them.
> 
> Updates are every day. kudos and comments are super appreciated!


	5. december, part one

You wake up to pee at 5 in the morning. You’re still in last night’s clothes, and your mouth feel drier than the Sahara desert. After downing at least half a bottle of water you start to remember the past night and a blush invades your cheeks.

You promise yourself right then and there to a life of sobriety, at least while you’re still Alexandria’s roommate. You really need to stop getting wasted and calling her beautiful. 

You sit on your bed quietly, mindful that she’s still asleep and she wakes up way earlier than you do. It’s not your fault -well, maybe drinking too much and smoking a little is- but she  _ is _ gorgeous, and though you’ve been living together for months now, you don’t know her at all. She’s quiet and secret and it intrigues you. 

You itch to sketch her, to just get paper and charcoal (you don’t draw a girl like that in pencil) and just _ , try _ and pin down the proud rise of her forehead and the slope of her nose. Her lips. You haven’t her seen smile more than a handful of times, and most of those you were really out of it. You can barely imagine how much more beautiful she’d look if she seemed happy and you were sober. (You’re an artist, your appreciation is purely aesthetical.) 

She’s damn sad and lonely, and if you both hadn’t spent the past few months at each other’s throats you would have seen it sooner. She can be mean and ruthless and hurtful,a nd in the past she  _ has _ . But she can also be kind, she can be the girl who lends you her notes so you won’t fail a test and who’ll - _ did you really strong arm her into playing Scrabble with you?  _

You shake your head. It’s 5:30 in the morning and you’re pretty sure there’s a 24 hour store nearby with a coffee machine. You hope she drinks coffee. If you hurry, you can make it.

 

When you get back, the room is empty, and you think for a second that you missed her.  You lay down the coffee on her desk when she walks in, wet hair staining her t-shirt like usual.

“I don’t know how you take it, so I brought some of everything,” you say, dropping the sugar packets and creamer next to the cup.

She just stands there, staring at you. 

“You bought me coffee.” Her words fall somewhere between a question and a statement, it they makes you self-conscious, which you are not.

“Yeah. I thought you deserved it for having to deal with my stoned self.” You bite your lip. “Sorry about last night.”

“It’s fine,” she says, and then, probably one of the few times she says something before thinking carefully about it first, “I thought you were hilarious.”

.:.

_ You’re running. You try to be faster but your feet sink into the asphalt. You know you need to get home by yourself, because Wells can’t come. You don’t know why, but fears floods you at the thought of him getting in his car. _

_ You see your house in the distance, finally. There are so many cars outside. _

_ You finally push your way inside the house, and your parents are there, Well’s father is there too.  _

_ No. No, no, no. _

“Clarke?”

_ You shake your head, you don’t want it to be true. No. _

“Clarke!” You open your eyes at once, and Alexandria is hovering over you, her hand not quite on your shoulder; she’s so close you get hit by her perfume, or maybe it's just soap. 

“Huh? What time is it?”

“It’s 6 am,” she says, taking a step back now you’re awake. You’re slightly disappointed.

“How are you always so awake?” You ask, voice dry and croaky from sleep. “Do you even got to sleep?” You expect the usual ‘that doesn’t concern you, Clarke’, that makes you think she actually sometimes doesn’t sleep at all, but it never comes. Instead, her brow is twisted into a frown. It makes her face look strange, for some reason, you’ve never seen her show so much emotion.

“You looked like you were having a nightmare,” she says.

And...it’s true. It’s true but you didn’t even think about it. You saw her there and teased her and the fact you were dreaming of Wells again, it didn't even register.

“Yeah, I’m good,” you say, and it is mostly true. “It was nothing.”

She nods carefully. You don’t know if she believes you or not, but know she has her own secrets, and if you have anything now, it’s mutual respect. 

“I have to go to Class now,” she explains, and you nod. It’s weird, how you’re in bed still and on your pajamas and she’s standing and ready to go but the brief conversation still felt like equals.

“See ya,” you say as a form of goodbye, and sink back into your pillows with a sigh. “Wait, I thought you said it was 6 am?! Is the building even open?” 

She’s already left by the time you look up, but you know for certain that classes don’t start until 8.

.:.

  
The first snowfall of the year arrives when you, Raven and Octavia, are sitting outside of the cafeteria, close to the biggest building on campus.

Octavia leans back her head like a child and tries to catch snowflakes, that at this point are really nothing but powder that make you close your book so it doesn’t get wet and pull up your hoodie. You won’t enjoy removing damp clothes later, but for now you do love the cold, and your friends, and the feeling that you’re almost done with the year.

“Is that your roommate?” Octavia says suddenly, and you look to where she nods her head. Alexandria hurries down the sidewalk, sweater over her hands and clutching her books to her chest. It looks like she got caught in the snowfall without a good coat on -which is insane, because it’s been cold enough to snow for days now. No one but a masochist would leave their room underdressed like that.

“Is she always like that?” O asks, and you know what she means. She’s walking so fast she’ll pass you in a minute, and her eyes are stuck to the ground in front of her. She seems sad. Lonely.

“She’s always alone in the class I have with her,” Raven says.

“Weird,” O adds, not really interest anymore, leaning back and opening her tongue to catch that inconvenient white powder on her tongue. Nothing reaches her. It’s still too light.

Alexandria walks in front of you in a rush, and you stare at the back of her head as she goes. All too often these days, you wonder about her. You feel bad.

“She might be a psycho but she has damn good hair,” Raven says. Alexandria does have beautiful hair, brown and curly and wavy, and frizzy as hell after a rainstorm (she got caught in one, once, and you called her a drowned rat.) You feel bad.

“I told you guys, she’s not a psycho, she’s not this terrible person I thought she was.” You want to defend her, even though she doesn’t need you to. You think what she needs is a friend. 

“Because she lent you her notes once,” O says, and by her tone of voice you can tell she doesn’t buy it. 

“Yeah, and she’s just...she just seems sad and lonely, and yeah, she was really rude at first but...she’s okay.” You don’t know how to explain it to them. You haven’t told anyone you caught her crying in her sleep. It’s not yours to tell.

“She’s okay? Don’t desert us now, Clarke,” Octavia sits up straight, staring at you. “We’re top of the list if a triple room or a quad gets vacated.” Octavia gives gives you a strange look, as if she was gauging your ability to betray them, as if you really were thinking of sticking with Alexandria -as if you had more reasons than what you’ve said. You don’t. ( _ You don’t. You’re an artist, your appreciation is purely aesthetical. _ ) 

You’ve all spent the entire semester making plans about living together. Once December is done you're moving out. They’re your friends, you’re not backing out.

“No, I know. I know,” you tell Octavia, and she nods, seemingly satisfied. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” Still, you feel bad.

.:.

The door is locked for the first time since you’ve been living together. 

Alexandria is inside, you can hear her talking, so you assume someone else must be in there too. For a second you think she might have actually brought some girl back to your shared room. The voices are loud, and you think fighting  _ would  _ be a kink of hers, and the door is locked because she’s just more polite than you but then you start to make out what it is they’re saying and it doesn’t peg you as romance.

“I'm going to call Gus, Lex. Don’t make me do that.”

“I’m fine,” Alexandria says, her voice tight and strained. “Aren’t you listening to me? I’m fine!”

“You’re not. You're running away from campus to visit her-”

“I’m not a prisoner here,” she enunciates every word. “I am  _ not  _ running away.”

You hear a pair of heavy footsteps walk around the space, and for a moment you feel like you need to take a step back, leave whoever is in there with Alexandria hash out their issues -but you’ve never been good at standing by idly.

“You stopped checking in-”

“I’ve been busy!” You blink at the yell, you’ve never seen Alexandria anything other than perfectly controlled, even when you fought . It sounds like a storm; beautiful and unstoppable and deadly. “I  have a double major to worry about, Anya.”

“Part of the problem. You're spreading yourself too thin….We’re worried about you.” It sounds like a woman, the voice just a little lower than Alexandria’s. She’s pleading.

“You don’t have to be,” Alexandria says.

“Then talk to me, tell me if you’re-”

“I don’t have to talk to you because  _ I am fine.” _

_ “ _ Okay, then. Be like this.”

You take a frantic step back when the door slams open and a blond woman exits the room. You’re left a bit lost, even more so when you get inside your room and meet Alexandria’s red-rimmed eyes.

She stares at you, and she knows you hear. You know she knows. You don’t beat around it.

“Everything okay?” You ask, and then want to bite your tongue because it’s clear it’s not.

“Everything’s fine,” she says slowly, exhaustedly, and you nod, because you don’t think she’ll appreciate being put on the spot.

She sits down on her bed like her body is heavy, stares at the floor, and you think her gaze might actually be able to wear a hole in the tiles.

The words just tumble out of your mouth.

“Hey, there’s this party tonight,” you say, and she looks up at you. “My friend’s brother, his frat house, really. They’re throwing a party.”

“It’s thursday,” Alexandria says, brow knotted.

“Yeah, that’s why,” you say. “Do you want to come?”

It’s like she doesn’t understand the words at first, like you speaking in some foreign tongue, but after a long stretch of silence she produces the answer you expected.

“I'm not big on partying,” she says, “but thank you, Clarke”

You almost let it go, almost, but you really do wonder about her and you really do think she needs a friend and it might as well be you, so.

“ _ Come on _ . I’ll stay with you the whole night.” She gives you a quick look, like she’s insulted you’d thought being left alone was her problem, like she’s scared because it's true.

“Why?” Is her answer, and you should’ve known it would not be easy. Luckily, she can be kind, so you do have someting.

“You helped me with history the other night,” you tell her. “I would’ve failed without your notes.”

“I heard Octavia come in with your USB later that night, you would have been fine.”

That stops you, makes you blush in a way you wish you hadn’t, but you still give it one last push. You really do want to be her friend. 

“Come on, what’s it gonna cost you?” You ask. She looks at you and you get the feeling she’s actually doing the calculation inside her head. It’s a while, a moment where you categorize her crumpled clothes and her tired, red-rimmed eyes, and the way she fidgets while she thinks.

She nods, once, and you don’t know why it makes you so excited.

“I knew you had it in you Alexa-”

“Lexa,” she interrupts you. “You can call me Lexa. My father is the only one who calls me Alexandria. And well. My classmates and teachers.” It’s the most you’ve heard her say at once, and you feel like she’s showing you something very tender.

“So who calls you Lexa?” you ask weakly.

“My friends.” She says the word tentatively, her eyes fleeting up to yours and blinking twice, three times, such a vulnerable sight in front of you. Your knee jerk reaction is to ask ‘you have those?’ because you’ve both been carefully throwing shards of glass at each other for months now, and after that teasing each other with half-formed digs, and your hands don’t know what to do with someone who looks so tender your words could bruise her. You bite your tongue. You let your eyes run over the insecure line of her brow and the doubtful green, green eyes. She’s beautiful, she’s always been beautiful, but now, she’s also  _ so kind. _

“Okay. Lexa.” The name tastes sweet as it leaves your mouth, it just  _ fits _ her. You smile. You catch the corner of her lip lift up in a smile as well, and it is not a trick of the lightning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lexa, at last
> 
> let me know what you think!


	6. december, part two

The music is loud and pounding when you get there, just a 10 minute walk from your dorm building, time you spend telling Lexa about Bellamy and Octavia and Raven, time she spends looking between you and the floor.

“Bell!” You throw your arms around his neck and kiss him quickly on the cheek, and you can _feel_ Lexa uncomfortably switching her weight between her feet behind you more than you can see it. “Octavia?” you ask, letting go of him.

“Just left with Lincoln,” he says. “She forgets she has a family.”

“Nonsense,” you say, because Bellamy actually likes Lincoln. They share this understanding that Octavia is the best thing under the sun.

“Raven’s out back,” he offers, and you nod.

“Bell, this is my roommate, Lexa.”

“Lexa, huh?” He looks at you with an eyebrow slightly raised, not really subtle, and you know that Octavia has been over-sharing again. You give him a look, because he’s on his way to drunk but it doesn’t mean he gets a pass. He gets it. “Well, Lexa, mi casa es tu casa.” Bellamy spreads his arms with grandeur, a king among the red solo cups and kegs. “Let me get you guys drinks.”

Bell pushes two cups into both of your hands a few minutes later, clearly his own mix of hard liquors; and you try not to laugh when Lexa gets a taste and her face scrunches up. She gives you a death stare, and it only makes you smile harder.

“Sorry, he thinks he’s good at it but he’s really not.” You take the cup from her hand and empty it both of them on a nearby house plant. “Mr.Plant over there will enjoy it more than us,” you tell Lexa, and you want to smack your forehead against the wall because ‘Mr.Plant’ , really? It’s possibly the stupidest thing you’ve ever said in front of Lexa, but she smiles at it, so it’s kind of worth it. “Come on, let me get you a beer.”

You grab her hand so you don’t get separated through the throng of dancing, sweaty people. Her hand is impossibly soft, and you let go as soon as you step into the kitchen. You hand her a beer, and she downs it in a few seconds a little desperately.

“You okay there?” you ask, a little surprised. You’d want her on your team in a game of flip cup.

She nods, shy, and you look away.

 

“Hey, Clarke!” You meet Monty’s eyes across the room, you haven’t seen him since the weed mess from last week.

“Hey.” You accept his hug, and then you’re quick to turn around and introduce Lexa. She holds her beer cup with both hands, and it’s all kinds of adorable. “Monty, this is Lexa, my roommate.”  

“Hello Lexa, the roommate. I’m Monty, the friend.”

“Hey,” she says. He offers her a polite handshake.

“Want to dance, Lexa?” Monty starts to bounce on the beat of the music, and you laugh at Lexa’s expression.

“He’s very gay too, don’t worry,” you whispers in Lexa’s ear, and the tips go red.

“Come on, Clarke, let’s dance,” Monty nods so hard toward the makeshift dance floor you worry about his neck for a second, and then he’s grabbing your hand and you’re following after him.

“I don’t really-” Lexa starts. You grab her hand and she shuts up. She’s cold, from the beer or something else, you don’t know.

Monty immediately jumps to the middle of the circle, his thin legs kicking out in what you assume are dance moves, and you start moving to the beat too. Lexa stands stiffly next to you, looking lost.

You get close to her ear, cheek pressed against hers, so she can hear you over the pounding of the bass.

“You know to dance, you have to actually move,” you tell her softly, laughing a bit. You put your hands on her sides, just above her hips, and make her move from side to side. She’s stiff as a board and you take a step back. You get that parties are not her scene and you don’t want to make her uncomfortable.

“Hey, we can leave if you want,” you tell her seriously, but she shakes her head.

“I want...another drink,” she says. “Vodka.”

“Atta girl,” you tell her, and go get it.

A vodka and another beer later, she bends her knees and starts to move with the beat of the music.  You keep one hand on her waist for a bit, and it’s not sexual, she’s just near, you’re just dancing together and this feels good. She’s not smiling, not quite, but Lexa is the most free you’ve seen her since you met and so you smile at her, because it looks like she’s having fun. So are you.

It’s just college. It’s just a circle of half drunk people jumping to the beat of the music. After a while, Lexa joins in.

 

She’s very warm against your side as you walk back to your room. She’s drunk, and you’re getting there, and so she leans her weight on you and your inhibitions are down enough that you enjoy it, because she’s soft and she’s sleepy and she’s so, _so_  different than what you thought she was.

You arrive at your room between giggles and later you will wish you could have taken a photo then and there.

“I’m hot. It’s hot,” she complains. Her hands manage to undo her button and zipper, and she steps out of her jeans, falling face first into her bed. You try not to stare at her ass, you really do.

“Here you go, killer,” you say, draping a blanket over her body. She’s already asleep.

.:.

You pull on your windbreaker as fast as you can, because class is canceled for the day, and your friends are waiting for you outside, and everything is covered in snow. It’s no longer fluff, and overnight the ground is covered on a good couple of inches and it’s decently winter, now, and you love it. Lexa looks at you from her spot on her bed, where she’s still buried, nursing a warm drink. She hasn’t said a single word but you get the feeling she’s judging for not putting in the same effort in waking up early for class.

“The world outside is so white, Lexa.” You pull your hat on, and work on finding your gloves.

“I grew up with conservative republican parents, Clarke, I’ve seen enough white to last me a lifetime,” she says with a straight face.

“Did you just make a joke?” You ask. She smiles a little, just a hint of it, but it makes the room less cold already. “You should totally get out there, Octavia and I are making a snow Olaf,” you say. And then, remembering her sad, poor exposure to Disney movies. “He’s-”

“The snowman from Frozen,” she says, tucking a curl of her wild hair behind her ear. “I know.”

“You got around to watching it!”

“....I  got around to watching it,” she confirms.

“Good,” you tell her. You’ll ask her what she thought later, for now, your friends are waiting outside. You think about how different she is now, when a few months ago you thought she didn’t just ride around on a high horse but commanded the entire army. You like this side of hers better. “See you later, Commander.” You give her a mock salute and leave.

.:.

You walk into the room and Lexa seems like a completely different person. She’s wearing a sweater that’s at least 3 sizes too big for her, you wonder if it belongs to someone else for a moment. She’s wearing glasses. She’s reading a book, not a school book but like an honest to god novel and you want to ask her about it. You want to ask her what she likes to read and what she listens to; you desperately want to be her friend.

“Hi,” you say softly, and it shakes her out of her reading. She carefully puts a bookmark down before closing the book and looking at you.

“Clarke.”

“Just passing through,” you say, leaving your bag and looking for a scarf. “My friends and I are hitting this Mexican place that opened a few blocks away. Wanna come?”

She considers the offer for a second, and you’re disappointed she doesn’t just say yes.

“No, thank you,” she says, and even though 10 minutes ago you had no idea you were going to invite her, your mood deflates. You wonder if it’s you or your friends or if it’s just who she is. “Really, thanks,” she offers. Your father has always told you that your thoughts show on your face.

“Sure, some other time, then.” You smile at her as you leave. “Enjoy your book.”

.:.

The cafeteria is quite full, people escaping the cold wind outside. It’s the tail-end of the semester, and you had the first of the last of your exams today, and you think you did pretty well all things considered, though drawing was never a problem.

You see her in a corner of the cafeteria, and her table is blissfully empty. Lexa sits with her back slouched, popping fries into her mouth and checking her cellphone. She no longer looks like she’s larger than life, and the change is jarring. You pay for your Lays and walk toward her.

“Hey, Lexa. Do you mind?” You ask, nodding to the empty seats.

“Not at all,” she answers, pulling her bag onto her lap even though you sit down across from her.

“So...What jail of creativity did you just get out off?” You ask, opening your bag of chips, inhaling the sweet scent of plastic and the knowledge that your mom can’t call you out on your terrible eating habits.

“Philosophy and Literature,” she says, and the way her face lights up it’s...something else. “It’s quite interesting actually, our final exam was an essay and I handed it in early so...” Out of nowhere, she raises her hand so it almost touches your cheek.

“Um,” she stops herself, her hand falling on her lap. Her cheeks grow slightly pink and you pretend not to notice. “You have something on your face,” she says.

“Oh.” You pull out your cell phone and check, embarrassment tickling your own cheeks. You remove the offending white smudge. “I had Ceramics earlier today,” you explain. “Good?”

“Yeah, you look, um, yeah.”

“Clarke!” Octavia’s voice carries across the cafeteria, and you roll your eyes as you turn around to meet her.

“You don’t mind, do you?” You ask Lexa, and she shakes her head about 50 seconds before Octavia and Raven occupy the two vacant seats by your side.

“Lexa, these are my dumb friends Raven and Octavia. Raven, O, my roommate Lexa.”

“You’re the one who stole my beer,” Lexa says.

“Only because Clarke offered,” Raven says.

“Alexandria,” Lexa says, offering her hand to Raven, who shakes it, as serious as she can manage.

“Octavia,” she thrust her hand in front of Lexa, “You can call me O, or-”

“Octopus,” you say quickly.

“Ol’ disappointment,” Raven adds.

“That one didn't even make sense,” Octavia retorts.

“Except it really did,” Raven bounces back.

You slip into easy chatter like usual, but Lexa looks uncomfortable at first, like she doesn't belong. You try to get her on the conversation a few times but it doesn’t really work. After a while you stop trying, and she seems content just to sit there and listen to you and look at your friends and answer the odd question. When she excuses herself and stands up, half finished sandwich still on her plate, you say your goodbyes to Raven and O and follow after her.

You fall into step easily beside her, and walk back to your room together, and it's good. The awkward tension is gone even though she’s so quiet.

“Hey, I’m sorry about my friends. They can be….” You make a face and Lexa smiles. She does that more often, you note.

“I noticed,” Lexa says. ”But don’t worry, it was...nice.”

“You can sit with us, you know”, you say quickly, and it makes you feel like you're in middle school still -not about to be done with your first semester of college. “I mean, if you want, whenever you're around and like, see us, or something.”

Lexa nods, and her smile still hasn’t gone away.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

.:.

“Wanna play scrabble?”

“Are you high?”

“Nope. Stone cold sober,” you answer, looking up from your notebook. It’s just that this essay is due in two days, and you’ve worked on it for as long as you’re able. You’re  bored and Lexa is...right there. That’s it.  “We don't have to be, though, I swiped some liquor from Raven in your honor.”

Lexa doesn't answer you, just pulls out a small bottle of coke and two shot glasses.

“Have I ever tell you I love your little fridge?”

Lexa wipes the floor with you.

You suppose you really should have seen it coming, since one of her majors is English, but you had high hopes. Still, the booze is good, and you laugh a lot, and fight to get Lexa to approve of the word ‘twerk’.

You sit on your bed, the board between the two of you, and sometimes she’ll lean forward, hair wild and you’ll think of how good she smells. How until tonight, you’d never heard her laugh. It’s airy and light and not at all what you expected. You watch her and your stomachs flutters with it in a way you haven’t felt in a while, and you ignore it, because you’re working on being friends with her and your appreciation is purely aesthetical, but still.

You like this.

.:.

“Tangled,” you say, closing your laptop and pushing it aside. You’ve had enough theory for a night, and your brain is just begging you for a respite from the misery. Hence, Tangled.

“What?” Lexa looks up at you, her hand instantly going to her hair, a mess of brown curls and waves that somehow manages to always fall in the right way.

“Your hair’s fine, gorgeous,” you tell her, and the word comes out easy and maybe a little more flirty than you intended-but you’ll be damned if it isn’t true. “I mean Tangled, the film. Have you watched it?”

“Can't say I have,” she answers, cheeks a little pink. You try to ignore it but it’s difficult. “Why?”

You bite your lip.

“...are you done studying?” you ask her, and she gives you a tentative nod that lets you know she’s on board.  You smile. “I’ll get the movie, you get the junk food?”

She nods again, smiling this time, and pulls on her oversized sweater before braving the cold of the hallway. There’s a vending machine one floor down that somehow always has better stuff. You grab your laptop and search for the movie, already thinking of grabbing some blankets from your closet because it’s snowing again, and the room is just this side of chilly because you both like drowning in blankets at night. You’re thinking of sharing one and-

Octavia comes barging in your room, jumping on the bed. You don’t have to finish that line of thinking to its inevitable crash of an end.  

“A triple got vacated!” She says, bouncing on your mattress.

“What?” You don’t know if you say or you think it, but she’s already launching into an explanation that makes you feel very cold all of a sudden.

“You know Raven’s not above using her bad leg as an excuse for needing a bigger room so they bumped us ahead. Administration just called. This girl graduated and her roommates are okay changing to a double. We got our room Clarke!”

“What?”

“Is that all you can say? Come next semester we’ll officially be roommates!” Octavia is bouncing in your bed, overflowing with excitement, her hair smacking against her forehead while she jumps. Her smile could eclipse the sun but you can’t muster up but a very weak one. “We’ll get to live together, Clarke! It’s what we wanted! You’ll get rid of quiet little psycho over there!”

It’s the smallest sound from the doorway that makes you look up. Lexa stands there, hand full of packages of junk food . Her eyes very green and very bright. She swallows.

“Octavia,” you say, and she finally stops bouncing and turns toward the door. She has the decency to blush. You know she’s not like this, that she’s just careless and crass like a child sometimes. “I’ll talk to you later,” you tell her, and she picks up her bag and practically runs toward the door. There’s a tense moment where Lexa stares at her, and then steps aside so she can leave.

“I didn’t know what you liked, so I got some of everything” she says, putting down a few bags of cookies and potato chips on your desk. The way her voice sounds makes your stomach hurt a little, makes something prickle behind your eyes. It’s emotionless, the monotone which she addressed you with when you first met so many months ago, and you can’t handle it, you don’t want to go back to that.

“Lexa...Octavia didn’t mean it, she’s just-”

“What _did_ she mean?” Lexa looks up at you, eyes you carefully. She’s vulnerable, you can tell, caught off guard, and for once it looks as though she’s not strong enough to completely hide her emotions because betrayal shines off those gorgeous green eyes.

“I was going to tell you, but it wasn’t a sure thing,” you say, and you don’t want to. “A triple room opened up. I’m moving in with my friends next semester.” You try to shrug, try to blow it off, but you can’t stop thinking of the way she nearly flinched when you said your ‘friends’ as if she wasn’t one. Lexa nods, and you scramble to make it better.

“I’m sorry about what Octavia said, Lexa. I’ll talk to her, she’ll apologize-”

“It’s fine,” she says, and it breaks your heart a little, how she simply lets it go. She pulls the sleeves of her sweater over her hands and it makes her look so young.

“Hey, I’ll be out of your hair in a week,” you try to joke. It sounds flat even to your own ears. You don’t imagine the way her face falls. You pretend your own chest doesn’t feel a little bit heavier because you were getting used to this, you really were. You don’t want it to end.

“Okay, great,” she says, but it’s anything but.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so much happened in this chapter. Lexa continues to need a hundred hugs.
> 
> you can yell at me at reyandsmoak.tumblr.com or leave me a comment, i answer every one.


	7. december, part three

The last week before break is tense.

You and Lexa don’t talk much, as if the past month of being more or less friends hadn’t happened at all. She’s back to her standoffish attitude, and she’s mad at you, you can feel it, but you don’t know exactly why. (You do, _you do_ , you don’t want to leave either.) You never got to watch Tangled.

You sit down on your bed in the middle of packing. She’s packing too, and the silence feels like a thread pulled taut.

“Hey, what are you doing for the holidays?” You ask her, as if the past week of walking on eggshells around her and she ignoring you for the most part hadn’t happened at all.

“Going home,” she says simply, and you refuse the need to roll your eyes. Or maybe tell her that mockery is not the product of a strong mind -but you don’t want the thread to break.

“Spending time with your folks?” You try again. She nods carefully, but you can see she doesn’t want to talk about it. Still, she answers.

“My mom for Christmas and my father for New Year’s. They’re divorced.”

“Oh.” You’re fucking great, Clarke Griffin. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine, it was for the best.” She closes the zipper on her bag, stares at it for a second before turning to you. “How about you?”

You try not to smile.

“I’m going home to my parents, and Raven and Octavia are joining me for New years. We’ve done that since freshman year of high school.”

“Sounds good.” Lexa nods, and she turns back to her handbag, effectively letting you know that the conversation is over. You’re an asshole. She tells you her parents are divorced and all you can say is that you’re spending the holidays with both of yours and your best friends? And since when do you second guess every single thing you say? You sigh, scratching the back of your neck. “Hey, I know you said you were visiting your dad, but, you know. My door’s open, if you wanna drop by afterward or whatever.” You’re so _articulate,_ when you talk to Lexa.

She gives you a look, and somehow it’s even more angry -more challenging- than before. What did you say?

“Thank you, Clarke, but I have a responsibility to my father already,” she says. You nod. You watch her quietly set her things in order. She, unlike you, is not emptying out her drawers, since she’ll be coming back to this room in the spring. Your chest aches faintly. You don’t want to leave things like this.

“Hey, Lexa.” You wait until she looks up to you. “Just because I’m moving dorms doesn’t mean we can't be friends,” you say, and you _mean_ it. You’ve never been more honest than you are now.  You know you hurt her, somehow, and you want to make it right. You were just starting to be friends, and you enjoy her company so very much, the rare laughs and the quiet smiles and her dry sense of humor you’d just gotten to know existed.

“Sure,” she says. But it will still be the last thing you hear from her for the next five weeks.

.:.

You text Raven and Octavia the whole drive from campus to your parent’s. Your mom insisted you get an Uber instead of renting a car because the streets are hell in the snow, and you spend the hour and a half texting and dozing against the car door.

Octavia and Bellamy always spend Christmas with their aunt, their mom’s sister.

Octavia texts you cat pictures constantly and videos of she and Bellamy playing football with the neighborhood kids. It’s been just her and Bellamy since their mother passed away when she was 10, and 15-year old Bellamy had to take care of them both. They lived with that aunt, yeah, but you know she feels like her brother raised her, and he feels that way too.

They spend Christmas over there, but ever since you met, O comes over for New Year's while Bellamy goes off with his own friends, and they regroup right before classes start again. It makes you want a sibling a little, wonder how that would have been like. Except you know. You had Wells, he _was_ your brother, in all the ways that matter, and sometimes you still miss him so much you can hardly breathe.

You all do.

Raven is spending the holidays with her mom this year. She does that when her mom is sober. If she isn’t, she visits her uncle and her army of little cousins. She comes over for New Year's, too.

Both of your best friends have spent the last few days of the year with you since you met the first day of high school. (You took some time to warm up to Octavia, but after she talked back to a teacher who embarrassed you in class, you were inseparable.)

Your family is not religious, so you really don’t do anything but crash in the couch and watch movies -horror, comedy, action- anything but christmas films. It’s a tradition, since -much to your dad’s disappointment- both your mom and you are cynics, and the feel good christmas movies make you roll your eyes most of the time. It’s one of the few traits you share with your mom.

Your dad hugs you for a long moment once you get there, and your mom presses a kiss to your cheek when he lets you go, even if you just saw them for Thanksgiving.

You spend a solid day sleeping and texting your friends and going back to sleep. It’s true that maybe you didn’t exert yourself as much as say, Raven, but you’re still tired, damn it.

You fill your parents in on your classes, and even your mom smiles at your excitement, looks at you a little with something like guilt -because she gets it now, that you weren’t meant for med-school. You know your dad has always backed you, but something in yourself lightens up with your mom’s approval, because even though you convinced yourself you didn’t need it, you really, really did.

.:.

On Christmas Eve, your dad makes the turkey while you help with stuffing, and your mom walks around pretending to be helpful. She ends up peeling the potatoes.

“Doesn’t that need more salt?” Your mom asks, nodding toward the vegetables your dad is tossing in a bowl. He gives you a long suffering glance and you smile.

“ _Honey_ , do I go into your OR and tell you your patients need more blood?”

Your mom raises her hands in defense at his words. They kiss, and you’re used to it, they’ve spent your entire life loving each other.

“Want to go upstairs and... _wrap presents_?” Your dad asks, wiggling his eyebrows, and your mom slaps him on the arm. You scrunch up your nose.

“Dad! I’m right here!”

“So you’ll know not to bother us,” he says, and you gasp. “See? Our child is traumatized already.”

“Jake,” you mom says, laughing.

You look away for a second, because even though you’re used to it, the love they have for each other still feels overwhelmingly private. You can't imagine loving someone that much. You want something like it. He kisses her forehead fondly, before stepping away to check on the oven, and your mom goes to get them both wine. She surprisingly hands you a glass, and you give your dad a look, all raised eyebrows because -yup, _she’s_ the one handing you alcohol. Your dad winks at you in return, raising his own glass in a toast.

This is your family, and you’re so, so lucky this is your family.

You can’t help but wonder about Lexa. Is she having fun with her mom? Is she laughing? She said her parents were conservative, you don’t know if that entails being religious. Is she at church?

“What are you thinking about, kid?” You dad asks.

“Huh? Nothing.”

.:.

“Tell us about school, Clarke,” your mom says, once the turkey is slow roasting in the oven, and most everything is done. “We know about your classes but how’s the campus? Are you having fun?”

“You seeing anyone?” Your dad adds. Your mom throws him a look.

“I’m direct,” he says.

“No,” you answer. “I’m focussing on my studies.” You're intentionally overly prim and proper, a smile underneath it all.

“That almost didn’t sound rehearsed,” your mom says, patting your dad’s shoulder.

“Please tell me we haven’t become the kind of parents who needle our child about significant others and push her to lie,” your dad says.

“Speak for yourself,” your mom tells him.

“I’m not lying,” you say, laughing.

“Really? You’re studying too much then,” your dad says and your mom rolls her eyes. “ I can’t believe no one’s caught your eye in half a year.”

“Not true, I’m just...not dating them.” You take a drink of your mulled wine -one of the few things your mom can make for Christmas. There were only two more people after Niylah, and it was fun, but no one has made butterflies fight themselves in your stomach. ( _Liar_ ) And your dad told you and Raven once that that was the perfect indicative to whether you should have a relationship or not.

“Oh,” your dad says, understanding dawning on him. “Are you being safe?”

 _“Dad._ ” You had the best, most positive sex education from your parents, but you still don’t want your sex life as dinner conversation. “Yes.”

“Good, that’s all we care about,” he says, and he doesn’t have to look back at your mom to know she agrees. They’re that gross with each other. “Though, you know, I’m not getting any younger. Would be nice to get a grandkid someday,” he teased.

“What were you just saying about needling? I’m 18!”

“I don’t mean _right now_. But I’m 49 this year, halfway to the grave. Would be nice for the Griffin line to go on.”

“What if I marry a girl?”

“I want grandkids, I don’t care how you get me them.” He gets up from his seat at the breakfast island and you turn to your mom.

“When did he get the baby fever?” You stage whisper to her, and it’s a little odd, because you two fought a lot before you left for college, and it’s always been you and your dad who joke around, but she smiles, and you do too.

“Brian has a grandson now,” your mom says, mentioning your neighbor and one of your dad’s oldest friends. “It’s the cutest baby. I think it sent his biological clock ticking all over again.”

“Right here,” your dad reminds you. “And I just realized you’re not going to be 18 for much longer. My girl is turning 19 next month.” He sits down on the couch, throwing you a pleading look. “Please stop getting older, bug.”

“You promised never to call me that again after I turned 10,” you tell him.

“I lied.” He leans back in the couch, patting the empty spot next to him.

“I thought you wanted me to settle down and give your grandkids?” You climb on the couch, pulling your legs up like you’ve always done since you were little.

“Forget about it, stay my baby forever.”

You curl up against his side, and your mom sits down on his other side, resting her head against his shoulder.

“My girls,” he says, kissing both of your foreheads. You really are lucky.

.:.

You stuff yourself full of turkey and ham during Christmas, while your mom talks about the hospital and the craziest of cases she got after Black Friday.

(“ _His hand was somehow trapped inside the toaster! And I kept telling him to stop moving, that he would only mess it up further, but he wouldn’t. Only when I said I was surgeon and we might need to operate did he stop!_ ”)

She looks at you the end of one of those stories, and you feel a little sadness, because you know she wanted you to follow in her footsteps. You feel a special sort of melancholy when you think about how you could’ve gone to work with your mom, how everyone would have known you already at the hospital and looked at you with pride; how you basically grew up there anyways when your dad and you visited, and you know every nook and cranny, how you, too, could have saved lives.

Your mom called you selfish once, in the middle of a fight, for wanting to switch majors. ‘ _Think of all the good you could do, Clarke._ ’ Your father had visited your room afterwards, found you crying, and told you that you owed the world nothing but being happy and doing what you loved.

That you owed nothing to anyone but yourself.

Your mom talks about the hospital and you chest is kind of heavy. You miss something that never was. But you’re not sorry. You had to choose art for yourself, and you’re glad you did.

Your dad tells you about the new project he’s working on, and you think Raven would have much more fun listening to it, but the way he seems so excited when he speaks is enough for you and your mom to try to understand for him.

When he talks about his co-workers and the little quirks they have, you’re too busy laughing so hard your stomach hurts to try and understand.

(“ _He stomps his foot twice before trying anything new! But what can I tell you. Hasn’t failed him yet._ ”)

It’s the middle of Christmas dinner and you’re having fun, you’re laughing with your family and you’re certain you’re one step away from physically eating too much. It’s the middle of Christmas dinner and your mind wanders off to Lexa, a staple of the past few days. You wonder if she’s doing the same thing with her mom. You haven’t been able to stop thinking about it ( _about her_ ), in the strangest of moments, and you need to do something about it. _(It’s only because she’s mad at you, you hate it when people are mad at you. Your hurt her and she’s mad. That’s it.)_

You know you have her cell phone number on your phone, though you’ve never texted her before. Might as well do it now.

You pull out your cellphone and type a quick message.  You tell yourself you were in the wrong here, because it seemed like you and Octavia were talking about her behind her back, calling her names. That’s why you need to talk to her. (You don’t think about her being upset you’re moving out, you don’t think about yourself and that same thing.) You hit send before you can back out

_Hi. Merry Christmas._

And then you think the upper case letters make it seem too formal but if you’d written it differently it would have been too informal. And then you think what if she’s jewish? What if she’s a rampant atheist? At the end of the day, you don’t know a lot about Lexa and you don’t mean to offend her but you also -you don’t want to leave things the way they were when you left.

You check your phone periodically during dinner, but she doesn’t answer.

“How are Octavia and Raven?” Your dad asks finally, after asking you a question you don’t answer, too immersed in your cell. Your mom is in the kitchen, looking for desert, and you didn’t notice when she got up.

“They’re great. O just beat a bunch of kids in football by herself. And Raven’s spending time with her mom so we’re not talking much.  They’re both coming down for New Year's as usual.” Your dad nods.

“So...who is it you’re waiting to text you back then, kid?” he asks. You look up slowly, feeling a little, senselessly, like you got caught with your hand in the cookie jar, but you know your dad will always be the type to give you another one and steal one for himself while he’s at it, so you tell him.

“Alexandria Woods,” you say, noting how her full name no longer represents her in your head. It’s a completely separate thing. “Lexa.”

“That name sounds familiar.”

“My roommate.”

“I thought you couldn’t stand your roommate,” he says, and you remember a particular conversation back in august, back when you had just moved in, and how you’d ranted for a solid 10 minutes about how neurotic Lexa was.

“Not at first, no,” you say, and smile, because what an understatement. “But she...she’s so different than who I thought she was. She’s really nice when you get to know her, sweet, even. I didn’t realize it at first and I really wish I had. She’s a good person.”

“So you asked her out.”

“Dad!”

“You didn’t?” he asks. “I just thought, the way you talk about her…”

“We’re just friends. At least... I was _trying_ to be friends with her. She’s quiet, keeps to herself most of the time. But we started hanging out more the past month, after I took her to one of Bellamy’s parties and it was fun, you know, but then she overhead Octavia and me talking about changing rooms and O said something awful about her and then we were back to square one and I- I couldn’t fix it before I left for the holidays. And when I get back I’m going to be living with Raven and Octavia and I probably won’t have any classes with her.”

You’re too busy checking your cell phone yet again to notice the look your parents exchange with each other.

“Seems you have to make things right, then.”

.:.

Raven arrives two days before New Year’s, exhausted, like she always is after seeing her mom, but still lighter, somehow. You share your bed like you’ve done since you were scrawny 15-year-olds, and she actually tries to help out with your New Year’s party, unlike O, who arrives a day later and sleeps until you bribe her with food.

Your mom is okay with you guys drinking for the first time during the party. (Which is not to say it's the first time you’ve gotten drunk during New Year’s, because you still have a tiny scar on your ankle from when you were 17, drunk as hell, and fell over a folded lawnchair at 2 am.) So the alcohol flows, and Raven is a pretty decent bartender, miles ahead of Bellamy, and even oyur dad requests one of her poison shots.

You have fun. Your chest is warm from more than just the booze. That all ends when Well’s dad arrives half an hour before the clock strikes 12. You go cold all over, your knees actually feel weaker, like you need to sit down. Raven blanches when she sees him, and unconsciously touches her bad leg. Octavia downs two shots in quick succession.

You hug him hello. You try to talk a little about college and your classes, but it doesn’t make it out of your parched mouth.  You know who was always supposed to go to college with you.

You can feel Well’s absence like a solid thing, like it’s not just a place where he’s missing. But as if your grief and your pain actually occupy space and make the room smaller. It’s hard to breathe.

You excuse yourself to go upstairs as soon as you can.

 If your mom hadn't told you about how heart attacks work when you were younger, you'd think you're having one. The way your chest hurts everytime you breathe, how good memories only fuel the pain...it feels like a debilitating illness. You sit on the floor of your room, your back against your bed. It's where Raven and Octavia find you 10 minutes later. Shame at your selfishness fills you. They lost him too. And you can’t quantify grief or put it in boxes of who knew him longer.

“Doesn’t get easier, does it?” Octavia asks, sitting down next you. Raven follows after her, maneuvering her leg in place.

“It’s been 2 years and I still can’t believe he’s gone,” you say, and swallow. Your throat feels tight, your eyes burn. You're all quiet until Octavia breaks the silence, clearing her own throat.

“You know how my aunt is like, literally full of crap, most of the time?” Octavia asks, and it gets you to crack a smile. It’s why you love O. “Well she told me once that the people that we love and we lose…they go on living inside of us. And as long as we’re alive there’s a part of them who still is, too. I like to think she’s not that crazy when she says stuff like that. Makes me feel closer to my mom.” She lays down on her back on the floor. “I think it’s true of Wells, too.”

You lay down next to her, and Raven follows suit. You stare up at the roof of your childhood bedroom, heads next to each other. The galaxies you painted when you were 13 are still there.

“He would have loved college,” Raven says. You hear her voice catch, and you hold her hand because you know it’s something that doesn’t happen often. You remember how Wells asked Raven so many questions about her job at a car shop after school, how he was always interested in her tech blabber you never quite understood. You remember the first time you saw her after the accident, how haunted her eyes had looked because she was there. You squeeze her hand tighter.

“Wells would have made me be nice to Lexa from the start,” you say. You don’t know why it’s the first thing that slips out, but now that you’ve said and you think about it…Wells would have been Lexa’s friend. He was so _kind_. It seems as though you’re starting 2016 missing people.

“I’m sorry about what I called her,” Octavia says. “It just came out. We’d been calling her all sorts of names for months.” It’s true. You came up with increasingly creative ways to call her an uptight fucking bitch, and then you’d found her crying in her sleep –and your anger simmered away. You can’t blame your friends for not catching up sooner after months of you being a piece of crap.

“That doesn’t make it sound better,” Raven says.

“I’ll talk to her if you want,” O offers. “Apologize...”

You don’t think that would help. You know it’s not about that. It broke your heart, how she just let the insult go, like she was damn used to being called things like that (your stomach churns at that, because, _Lexa_ ) and you’re not dumb, you can connect the dots. She told you she was gay and she mentioned her parents being conservative and you can’t help but wonder if that why she’s the way she is. Is that why she’s so quiet? And you get her to trust you, even a little, enough for her to get drunk with you and dance and start being friends…and then you leave. And she catches Octavia calling her shit. It’s a fucking mess.

There’s two knocks at the door before it opens and your dad steps inside.

“Girls, the fireworks are starting.”

You look at him from your place in the floor, and quickly wipe your cheeks with the sleeve of your sweeter. He gives you a sad look, the one you all get when Jaha is around and memories of Wells resurface, though now your tears aren’t only for him.

You go outside and see the fireworks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jake and Abby are the Cool Parents™ we all wish we had. not much Lexa on this chapter sadly but she’s back tomorrow! eventually we’ll know what went on with her during the holidays. clarke can be such a sad bean too sometimes, but she has such a good support network there for her.
> 
> speaking off -my internet connection was terrible the past few days so I couldnt upload chapters, so my apologies for that :/ (on that note, would you guys like it if I update twice a day for a few days to make up for it? or just keeping it daily is cool?)
> 
> Kudos and comments are appreciated, I love hearing from you guys.


	8. january

The weather is miserable when you go back to school.

There’s only so much snow you can take with open arms, and after sporting a runny nose for the past couple of days, you’re not in a good mood when your parents drive you, Raven and O back to campus.

In fact, you’re damning global warming and actually, honest-to-God thinking of joining some sort of enviromental club when you get there. The Eco Warriors. The Lettuce League. Grounders. _Anything._ You chuckle, and Octavia is too deep asleep to notice on your right, but on your left,  Raven gives you a look that makes it clear she thinks you’re going nuts.

“Just thinking of selling my soul to get better weather,” you offer as a response.

“It’s too tainted already, no one would buy it,” O says, apparently not as unconscious as you thought.  She stretches her legs as much as she can on the crowded back seat.

“I can hear you bullying my child,” your dad says from behind the wheel. “Make it quieter.”

“Thanks, dad.”

Raven laughs. You shake your head and lay down against O’s shoulder, content to try and get some sleep at least, if you can’t do anything about the snow covering every surface.

.:.

Your parents let the three of you go with long hugs and a promise to go have dinner with them before Spring Break rolls around, because, ‘It’s only a two hours drive, tops, Clarke’.

The campus isn’t as full of people as your fall semester was during moving day, and you chalk it up to the weather. You don’t see Lexa. You don’t realize you’re searching for the familiar head of brown waves until you find yourself disappointed that you don’t see her around.

You’re in a different building now, a bit further away from the Fine Arts building but closer to the library.  There’s something of a park between the residence halls, and you think during spring it might be amazing to spend time, to sit in the benches and just draw. Honestly, fuck snow.

You drag around two suitcases, one filled with your clothes, and the other filled with your art supplies and the tiny keurig machine your parents gave you three for christmas. Raven rolls both hers and Octavia’s bags, while Octavia carries a black metal box. The single most prized possession the three of you have. Your mini fridge.

You’re on the second floor, but the elevator is nice and empty like the rest of the building.Maybe there is an upside to snow, after all.

Your new room is more or less the same size as the one you shared with Lexa. But instead of two single beds, there is a bunk bed on the left side and a loft bed on your right.

Raven plops down on the bottom bed. Her leg.

“Fight it out, the two of you,” she says, and it’s only just a little sad. “And by fight it out I mean who gets the honor of sharing a bunk bed with me. Not a lot of people get to say they were on top of Raven Adriana Reyes so be wise.”

You and Octavia crack a smile, and the somber atmosphere dissipates.

“We were roommates before, only fair we stick together,” Octavia says, putting the mini fridge down on a corner of the room, and hauling her backpack to the top bed.

So you get the loft bed. The wooden frame looks sturdy enough, at least, for you to feel safe climbing the stair and throwing yourself on the bare mattress.

“How does it feel?” Raven asks.

“Like I can’t wait to unpack my mattress topper,” you answer.

“Princess,” Octavia says, and you don’t have anything nearby to throw at her.

The only difference from your previous rooms lies at the front of your bed. Raven’s closet is there, and so is her desk. Next to it, an unassuming white door, as if it didn’t mean your salvation. You share a bathroom with the people next door.  And one shower and sink for 6 people is a lot more palatable to you than the communal showers from your first semester.

“I think this is going to be the best year of our lives,” Octavia says, staring at the bathroom door, but you and Raven recognize the quality of her voice, how she gets emotional sometimes and tries to cover it up. You want to agree with her.

.:.

Three days go by; then four, and you don’t see Lexa at all.

The first week of classes rolls by, and you spend time with your friends and go out nearly every night, gearing up for when they actually pick up. You forget, sometimes, about the quiet girl you used to live with.

The ‘Merry Christmas’ chat you sent her remains unanswered, and when your first friday passes by and you don’t catch a glimpse of her, you begin to wonder if she’s coming back to school at all.

.:.

Saturday arrives bright and early, and you can finally feel the heat of the sun even amongst all the white snow on your path.

Octavia and you are on-route to the cafeteria, planning on taking at least half a dozen breakfast burritos back to your dorm, and _maybe_ try putting your room together afterwards. (Your beds are the only thing that’s done, you’ve been living out of your suitcases for the past week, and you’ve yet to find a place for your mini fridge.)

You’re thinking about where you might be able to squeeze your closet so you can get a bean bag when you see her. You stop. Lexa’s brown hair is wilder than usual, frizzy and tangled. The rush of relief you feel when you see her surprises you, but it quickly fades away when you realize how she looks. There are dark circles under her eyes, and she seems thinner than she was a month ago. She’s bundled up  in a far too large windbreaker, and it swallows her up. Where before you’d thought her all lithe muscle and power, now she just looks very fragile.

“Is that Lexa?” O asks next to you. You nod. She’s not alone, but talking to a very large man with long braided hair and a thick beard. Is that her father?

“She looks like shit,” Octavia says. “Do you think she’s sick?”

“I don’t know,” you tell her.

She’s nursing a drink out of a plastic cup, and nodding to whatever it is the man is saying.

“Clarke, you’re staring,” Octavia tells you, pinching your arm.

You grab O and pull her in front of you, so you’re not so obviously looking. Octavia rolls her eyes.

It’s just...strange. It’s crazy that you’ve never actually seen Lexa talking to anyone. You only shared two classes and you lived with her for months but you’ve never seen her with a friend. That is, if you don’t count the girl you found yelling at her once. She seems alone, always. You wanted to change that.

You can’t imagine going more than a day without talking to Octavia or Raven, or not seeing Monty and Jasper when they deem to come out of their respective labs. You have friends. Does Lexa?  You know she told you that’s the name her friends call her, but you’ve never met a single one of them, and apart from how amazing she’s at scrabble and that she likes vodka and she gets a glint in her eyes when she talks about literature, you don’t know much about her at all. You were well on your way to changing that, and then you changed rooms. You feel like you broke something very new that night, and now you don’t know how to fix it.

Lexa looks up suddenly, like she can feel your eyes on her, and you look away.

“Let’s go get those burritos,” you tell Octavia.

.:.

At the end, you decide to put the black, dry-erase surface mini fridge in the middle of both beds. Your Keurig coffee machine goes right on top. It looks like a shrine to booze and coffee, and you think that sums up part of the college experience for the three of you.

You try to find a way to open up space beneath your loft bed, but after moving around the small wooden desks for an hour in various positions none of you are satisfied, so you give up.

Raven lays back down on her bed, Octavia sprawls out on the grey carpet on the floor (you cringe to think of when was it last washed) and you stare at the roof from your place on your bed. At least you can sit up without hitting the roof, but it wouldn’t be the case if you were a couple of inches taller.

“Guys,” Octavia says suddenly. “What about sex?”

“What about it?” You ask.

“You know Raven and I knew when to make ourselves scarce in our other room, right?” O says. “We had our own code and everything.”

“Needless to mention I had next to no time to hook up with people because I lived in the labs and library, so this really only benefited Octavia,” Raven says.

“Details. My point is, that was possible.” Octavia sits up. “Because each of us had nice and sturdy beds on the _freaking ground_.”

“You and Lincoln are not having sex in my bed, I swear to god Octavia,” Raven warns.

“I can’t have sex up there. Have you seen how tall he is? The space between the mattress and the roof really isn’t that big-”

“Clarke,” Raven calls.

“You guys fiigure it out, I’m not feeling sex right now,” you say, and you hadn’t actually thought about it but it’s been a while, and it doesn’t bother you. “I’m taking a semester to myself.”

“What?” Octavia asks, dumbfounded.

“I think Party Animal Clarke Griffin just said she’s giving up sex for a semester?” Raven explains, and you roll your eyes. “What happened?”

“I’m just not feeling meeting random people and hooking up with them. Plus Octavia is right, I'm not risking falling from up here and having to explain how it happened.”

“Even if you don’t fall, how comfortable can it be? There’s no range of movement,” Octavia insists.

“Lincoln has a double room, can’t you asking _him_ to figure it out?” Raven begs.

“Lincoln also has a scary roommate,” Octavia answers. “You know about Anya. I’ve never actually talked to her but…scary.”

“Badass scary or Lexa scary?” Raven asks, and then backtracks. “Shit, sorry Clarke.”

You shake your head. Raven mentioning her brings back the way she looked this morning and how relieved you were to see her again, and you know what you’re doing.

“I think I’m going to pay her a visit, actually,” you say.

“You think that’s a good idea?” O asks.

“Yeah, I mean. You saw her, she didn’t look so good.”

“Maybe that’s reason not to go,” Raven offers.

“We’re friends. We haven’t talked since last year.” You don’t tell them about the messages that went ignored. You know they’d turn it into something it’s not. “I’m just going to drop by. Say hi.”

Neither of them look convinced, but you’re already pulling on your sweater and then your coat.

“Good luck,” Octavia says.

“How come you’ve never met her?” Raven asks her as you leave. “You practically lived with Lincoln last semester.”

“She was always gone visiting her uncle. He’s sick or something.”

You pull your hat down and head outside.

.:.

It’s a little sad going back to your old building. You climbed these stairs every single day for 5 months, and it’s bittersweet. It’s also the last time you’ll probably get so much exercise on a daily basis, because you’ve gone from the fourth floor to the second, and too close to the elevator to pass it up.

Your old door is at the end of the hall, visible from where you stand. You take a deep breath as you walk, slowing your steps more than necessary, because you still don’t know what you’ll say. Hey, want to catch up? Do you want to go for coffee? I saw you earlier, are you okay?

You knock on the door.

Someone opens it, but it’s not who you expect. A guy with long dark hair stands at the door, and you can’t help but stutter in confussion.

“I’m looking for Lex- Alexandria. Alexandria Woods?” You ask. “This used to be her dorm room.”

“No, it still is, yeah,” he tells you. “I’m Finn, her new roommate.”

“Oh. Hi.” You offer him your hand to shake. You can feel his hand is warm even through your glove.

“Clarke.”

“Clarke.” He smiles at you, and you smile back. “Do you want to wait for her inside?”

Somehow you don’t think it would go over well, just being there, sitting on her bed when she came back. You don’t need the audience either.

“No, it’s okay.”

“Oh, well, I’ll tell her you drop by,” Finn offers -but you doubt.

“Actually, Finn, it's fine, you know. Don’t-I’ll-”

“Okay, I get it.” He gives you a knowing smile, as if he knew something was up that you didn’t want out there, and it amuses you. You’ve just met, how can he tease you? “Whatever you say, Clarke. Nice to meet you.”

You nod and walk backwards until he closes the door. When Raven and O ask, you simply tell them you couldn’t catch her.

.:.

You and Raven share a can of peaches.

It’s one of the last things Bellamy has in the apartment he shares this semester with two other guys, 10 minutes away from campus. Cheap beer flows but you’re driving everyone back in Bellamy’s truck so you stay clear of it, not that you’d like to poison you’re poor body any further with the kind of crap Bellamy buys.

“...and he’s absolutely stoned, but still insisting he didn’t steal from us.” Jasper finishes his story, still miffed that he couldn’t report his classmate for stealing the weed he and Monty so painstakingly grow. Bellamy laughs, but you can already see him putting a stop to their growing mini drug den in the morning, when everyone’s sober.

“Clarke, you should tell them about Lexa and the ants on your bed,” Octavia supplies helpfully, nestled in Lincoln’s arm. They’re sitting on the floor, disgustingly close together, and you’ll have to ask O what dirt she has on her brother, because Bellamy hasn’t looked at Lincoln the wrong way the whole night.

“She put ants on your bed?” Monty asks, and you remember that he’s possibly the only other person to ever have seen Lexa let loose.

“No,” you say. “I forgot a soda can on the floor. She had this crazy cleaning routine in the weekends. I left to take a shower and when I came back all the trash from my side of the room was laid out on my bed. Including this soda can full of ants. They were everywhere.” You were pissed that morning, trembling with anger. You’d never wanted to slap someone so badly, and you didn’t consider yourself a violent person. You're amused by the memory now.

“How did you go from that to bringing her over to the frat house?” Bellamy asks, and you know but you don’t say it out loud. When you realized she was so much more than what she pretended to be. When you saw her smile, maybe, and recognized it for the rare sight it was -how it was a damn shame a girl like that didn’t smile more often.

“She sounds like an asshole,” Jasper says. It’s fast, immediate, the absolute need to defend her.

“No, she’s not,” you say, and your friends all look at you, surprised by the outburst. “I mean... we were okay the last couple of weeks. She was nice.”

“Nothing tops being stolen from,” Jasper declares.

.:.

You’re waiting for the classroom to empty when you see her walking down the hallway, arms wrapped around herself and eyes intent on the floor.

“Hey, Lexa!”

She’s surprised when she turns around, and for a second her expression seems so open you think she might be happy to see you.

“Hi,” you say, and you hadn’t forgotten how green her eyes are, but the sight hits you all over again. Now when you look at her you only think of the last few weeks of class, the scrabble and the movies, and how kind she was, and it only makes her even lovelier in your eyes.

“Hello, Clarke.”

“Hey.” Now that she’s right in front of you you’re not quite sure of what to say. “I saw you outside the cafeteria the other day-”

“I’m busy right now,” she says, and that familiar blank look washes over her face. “Do you have something important to say to me?”

You blink, surprised. You can only manage to shake your head.

“Good,” she says, and she’s already turning around, going back the way she came with hurried steps. What the hell?

It bothers you, it so deeply bothers you. You're Clarke Griffin, you haven't chased after people a day in your life. You're not going to start now.

Maybe you should let it go. This is just some girl you happened to live with for 5 months, who you were convinced you hated for most of that time, just some random girl with beautiful eyes and a sad expression permanently etched on her face. You should let it go. Why can’t you?

“Is she always like that?” A voice asks next to you, and you turn to find Finn leaning against the wall, a smile on his lips and eyes looking intently at you. Your cheeks flame up -only partly because of what he just saw.

Maybe you should just be friends with people like him, who smile when they shake your hand, who don’t insult you when they first meet you.

“Pretty much,” you tell him, and offer him a smile as you roll your eyes.

.:.

“Lincoln wants me to meet his foster mom.”

The room is quiet and dark, only the barest hints of moonlight coming in through the open window. You’re all in bed already, and voice carries easily through the stillness.

“And? Do you want to?” You ask.

“God, yes. I want to know all of him. I...I really love him, guys.”

You smile at Octavia’s tone of voice, and the lack of Raven’s teasing tells you she, too, knows how much this means to Octavia. You’re happy for her.

“I talked to Lexa today,” you offer. It’s become a bit of a tradition, to tell each other about your day, the highlights of it maybe, and you’re just so thankful your best friends share a room with you.

“And?” Raven prompts.

“She blew me off,” you say, and the sting floods your chest all over again. “I think I’m done chasing after her.”

.:.

“It is Wednesday, January 27th, in the year of our lord 2016.”

You smile. Bellamy has a gift for theatrics. The auditorium classroom is packed, and he commands the attention of the students.

“Which means you have exactly 6 weeks to work on your midterm projects. Allow me to explain those. They’re made up of two parts. For the first one, each of your groups will receive an individual topic to research. One of this class’ goals is to get you to develop information literacy and research skills. Knowing how to google is not research skills.”

They offered them the TA job for his last semester of college, and you can see how much he loves it.

“The second part is what I like to call ‘all but the research paper’. You willconduct the research for a term paper. You will choose a topic based on its historical importance, you will submit an annotated bibliography of useful sources, an outline of a paper, a thesis statement, and an opening paragraph and summary.  Basically do everything except write it.  Then you will give an oral presentation-” The class collectively groans at this, and he goes with it.

“I know, I know. You will have 5 minutes to explain your topic, so be concise. 1 minute for questions. The assignment is due march 2nd, grades will be handed out march 9th, just in time for Spring Break.”  Some of the rowdier guys at the back whistle and bangs their fists on the table.

“Calm down, people, it’s still january.” A few of your classmates chuckle at that.

“You will be working in groups of two. Now don’t get excited, we choose the groups. In fact, I have them here already. When you’re called I’ll hand your group the topic for the 1st part of the assignment and you’re dismissed -for _today_. You’ll find the required reading for next class in your inbox. Please, do bother to check.  Get to know your new best friends if you don't already, this assignment is worth 30% of your final grade. Any questions?”

Bellamy points to the back, and you assume someone has raised their hand.

“Can we change groups?” Some guys asks. “If it’s like, by mutual agreement, can we switch partners?”

“I’d be okay with that, personally,” Bellamy answers. “But the professor told me -and I quote- ‘she doesn’t accept divorces’.” He uses air quotes, clearly enjoying this. “You need to learn how to work with people you’re maybe not used to, so sadly, no, you can’t change groups. If you _absolutely_ can not work together, I’ll take your case to the professor and see if we can figure something out, but I would not recommend doing that if I were you. Anything else?”

At the class’ silence he opens a folder and you look around, wondering who you will have to work with for the next few weeks.

“Well, Zoe Monroe meet Sterling Tracey.”

You don’t know a lot of people in this class. Raven and Octavia took it first semester, and by the time you decided to switch majors it was already full. There are two girls you recognize, Fox -you have no idea if it’s her real name or not- but you’ve seen her at Bell’s parties, and a blonde. You never spoke  with her but you shared English class last semester. They seem cool. You notice a guy in the row next to you and recognize him as Miller, Monty’s friend.

“Harper Reist and Jonathan Murphy,” Bellamy announces, and the blonde girl walks down to the front of the auditorium. It’s one less person you might have liked working with. A guy with an expression you can only describe as ‘mild distaste at everything’ walks after her, taking the page from Bellamy’s hands.

You pull out your cell phone, and send a quick picture of Bellamy in all his TA glory to Octavia, when he calls your name.

“Clarke Griffin.” You look up.  “Nathan Miller.” _Yes._

You start to gather up your things _._ Monty’s friend seems nice from the few times you’ve met him, and you can already-

“Excuse me, my bad,” Bellamy apologizes, and you turn your eyes on him. “Miller, you’re up with Maya Vie.”

The girl in front of you stands up and gives Miller a tentative smile, and Miller gives you a small shrug.

“Clarke Griffin and Alexandria Woods.”

You almost drop your cell phone. You didn’t even know she was in this class, and you don’t bother to pick up your bag before you walk over to Bellamy.

“What?” He asks, his face the picture of innocence, and you know he did it on purpose.

 _“Bell._ ”

“Yes?”

“You can’t just do that!” You love Bellamy, but hate it when he meddles -and so does O. “Your sister is going to kill you for me. Raven’s going to help.”

“Raven actually thought it would be funny,” he tells you.

“Was this her idea?” You ask, conscious that you’re holding back the class. Bellamy hands you your research topic but you don’t look at it.

“It was Octavia’s, actually,” he explains. “You have lovely friends.”

“ _Bell,”_ you plead.

“Good luck, Clarke.” He turns back to the class and you struggle not to huff. “Nicoleth Vazquez and Adam Mckenzie!” He reads, and then gives you a sardonic smile. “Have fun.“

Bellamy’s voice fades in the background as your eyes zone in on the girl on the very last row of the classroom, brown hair pulled away from her face in a neat braid and eyes very clear and light under the fluorescent lights of the auditorium classroom. _Fuck_.

You look away. By the time you go back to your seat for your bag, she’s already halfway out of the door.  You haphazardly grab your stuff and follow after her. You push the door open, and - _damn_ \- her legs are impressive, because she’s already turning the corner.

“Lexa, wait!”

“I have a class to get to, may we discuss our project later?” She asks, and you’re not prepared.

“Um, sure, yeah.”

“Would the cafeteria at 12 today be satisfactory?”

“Yeah, okay.” She nods and walks away, like a spooked deer.  And, just -who the fuck speaks like that? Every word seemed scripted, acted out by a bad actress. Yesterday you wanted to talk to her, to get back to where you'd been before the holidays, but after she blew you off so callously you're annoyed,  embarassed even. Now, the possibility of spending 6 weeks working with her is daunting -and something you're not sure you might like.

.:.

“So…this was quite a coincidence,” Lexa says. She sits stiffly on the cafeteria chair, and your eyes follow her every move. She confuses the hell out of you, no one short of being in drugs would act that erratically -and you lived with her for a semester. She’s not a junkie.

“The TA is my best friend’s brother. My friend too,” you explain. “He set it up.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. They thought it would be funny since we didn’t have the best track record of being decent to each other.” You tell her. “You know, at first,” you add lamely, but the truth is you still feel the sting of her blowing you off and ignoring your texts over break.

“I can be decent,” she says, and you snort. Lexa looks mildly affronted.

But it’s not that you believe she can’t (though you’ve wondered if being a somewhat polite human being just wasn’t in her). It’s that you can’t believe she’s been anything but annoyingly _decent_ since she came out of the womb. If you hadn’t been her roommate for a semester, if you hadn’t seen her in oversized sweater and big glasses, you’d believe she went to sleep in button downs.

“I can, if you can. Clarke?” Her voice shakes you out of your own head. She still looks painfully delicate, but you can’t hear it on her voice. She’s like a sword covered in velvet.

“Yeah, of course. So…truce?” You tentatively offer her your hand across the chasm of the cafeteria table, your fingers fluttering with what you convince yourself is the cold and not the desire to hold her hand.

“I wasn’t aware we were at war, Clarke,” she says, in that slow measured way of hers. She shakes your hand nonetheless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *It's getting tropey in here* Alas it wasn't fate, but friends meddling. And Finn appears!  
> From now on I've decided updates will be every day with the exception of thursdays -which will get two updates -heaven knows we need extra clexa fluff those days.
> 
> If you're so inclined, I've been making social media posts to go with this story, and you can find the 1st one [here](http://reyandsmoak.tumblr.com/post/142189820566/the-one-where-clarke-never-wanted-to-be-roommates).
> 
> Comments are super appreciated, talk to me you guys!


	9. february, part one

_ Memento mori _

_ [Latin: _ _ remember you must die] _

  1. _A reminder of death or mortality._
  2. _A reminder of human failures or errors._



_.:. _

You walk into your room with purpose, your entire body fluttering with too much of something you can’t yet name. Raven sits up the minute you arrive like she knows, because of course she does. But it wasn’t her. You look up at the girl on the top of the bunk bed, her blue eyes very wide when she sees you.

“Octavia-”

“Don’t kill me,” she says, raising her hands in defeat.

“I didn’t stop her, you can go at me too,” Raven offers, while Octavia climbs down from her bed. 

“What the hell?” You ask, because you’re not sure what process do they go through to start telling Bellamy to rig group projects in your history class!

“You’ve been screwed up about Lexa since last semester. You obviously have shit to sort out with her. So now you have time to do it,” Octavia says, like that’s her reason, like it’s that simple. Like they aren’t just pushing you and Lexa into an awkward position. 

“Is that why you did it?” You ask, sitting down on Raven’s bed. “Bell said it was a joke.”

“Well I wasn't about to tell him everything, that’s none of his business,” Octavia says, sitting down next to you now that your expression doesn’t suggest you’ll hurt her.

“Clarke…” Raven says tentatively. “Are you mad?”

“I’m stuck with her for the next 6 weeks is what I am.” And yet a small part of you thinks, this is exactly what you wanted. 

.:.

Lexa plays with the buttons on her shirt when she doesn’t understand something.

She pulls the sleeves of her sweater over her hands when the library gets chilly at night and you can't help but stare because it's damn cute. She pushes her hair behind her tiny little ears when she gets frustrated and yet never manages to get all of it. These are all things you learn into your first week of working with Lexa.

You’re supposed to research King Henry VIII and the english reformation and it’s an easy topic, as far as being able to google it goes -Bellamy’s research skills be damned. You don’t spend that much time looking at your laptop anyways.

Lexa looks so young, like such a different person than the girl you roomed with for months and couldn’t stand at first, that you missed later. It’s not like you could forget how beautiful she is, how green her eyes are, but you didn’t see her in over a month and you  _ missed  _ her.

You actually had fun for a little while, and she used to laugh at your shitty jokes, and it’s hard to believe a week or two of pseudo-friendship would leave you this fucked up but it did.

She looks up, and you’re hit again by that stare.

“Hey,” you say,oh so eloquently. It’s late and the library it's mostly empty, at times like this you go quiet. “My friends and I go to this Cuban sandwich place a few blocks from here every friday. You’re invited to come, you know? Tonight. If you want.” Your offer floats lazily in the air for a minute, and you think she might say yes, that she might actually give you an indicative that she enjoys your company a fraction of what you enjoy hers, but she shakes her head. You expected it, but still.

“Thank you but I’m busy, Clarke,” she says. “I apologize,” she adds when sees your face fall, and you really need to let Raven teach you how to play poker. You can’t bluff to save your live.

“No, it’s cool,” you say. You wanted to see her let loose again like she did at Bell’s party last semester, but you’re not going to strong arm her into it. You point toward her computer, taking the pencil out of your hair bun. “So, did you find out who else this dude was doing back in the day?”

Her mouth twitches as she turns around her laptop to show you her research, and you get this feeling in your chest, like you want to pat yourself on the back, because making this girl smile is the most difficult thing you’ve done this week and it shouldn’t feel this good, but it does. It does.

.:.

The second half of the second week of your second semester of college, is considerably better than the first.

You, Raven and Octavia finally have a working mini-fridge, and it keeps your ice-cream, nutella and the collection of tiny bottles of booze Raven’s stewardess cousin gave her for christmas perfectly cool. The surface of the black fridge is dry-erase, so it sees more than its fair share of jokes and your doodles. There’s also the fact that you’re back in Lexa’s good graces.

At least, as close as you ever got, because you’re able to do your research together, and she actually looks less and less like she’s perpetually disenchanted with something. She doesn’t look as bad as she did when she came back to school and you stop worrying about her being sick. It stops snowing too. 

You sit on a couch in the quiet library, your ever warming laptop on your thighs. Lexa sits at your side, infinitely more focused on the project than you are.  After thirty minutes, you're bored.

“Favorite tv show?” You ask out of nowhere, putting your laptop on the low table in front of you. Lexa looks up, confused, and so you explain.

“I’m bored.” You shrug. “So...favorite TV show?” She humours you for once.

“I don’t watch much TV,” she says, and you realize she’s not lying which is just -not surprising, really. You’ve never seen her in the TV room, and you don’t think Lexa would fit in among the loud and rowdy students sitting around eating junk food and watching The Big Bang Theory. “I like Jessica Jones.” She offers, and you realize she doesn’t want to seem odd to you, though it’s too late for that. It’s okay, you like her anyways.

“Yes, a girl after my own heart,” you say, grinning. “Favorite episode?” Her tentative attempt at following the conversation doesn’t last very long, and she pushes her hair behind her ear.

A half-hearted, “Clarke, our work,” makes its way pass her lips.

“I know, I’m doing it,” you tell her, scooting back on the couch and pulling your laptop back on your lap. After a minute of silence, you nudge her foot with your own. “Are you lowkey wishing Jessica and Trish end up together?” From the corner of your eye you see her biting back a smile.

.:.

“Indra was scary. Like, cool scary, but still,” Octavia says. You and Raven walk side by side with her, listening intently. She spent the weekend at Lincoln’s foster mom’s house, and you’re still not quite sure if it went well or not. “She raised Lincoln since he was 9, you know? She runs a gym and she taught Lincoln how to box. She actually offered to teach me some moves.” She winces as she rubs at her arm, and you can see a purple bruise blossoming there.

“Did your boyfriend’s mom beat you up?” You ask her, grabbing her arm.

“That’s one way to meet the parents,” Raven says.

“She offered to teach me some moves. I think she expected me to say no, but I didn’t.” Octavia actually seems proud, so you let it be -regardless of how insane it sounds. “She looked impressed. I’m pretty sure I passed a test. So she actually taught me some stuff. It was really cool. I’m getting Lincoln to teach me during the weekends.”

“As if Octavia Blake wasn’t terrifying enough,” Raven teases her, and O smiles.

“This is your stop,” she says, and you look at the library entrance.

“I never thought I’d see Clarke Griffin excited to do homework,” Raven says, and you throw her a look. 

“I’ll see you guys later,” you say, and pointedly ignore Raven as you hitch your bag higher up your arm and go inside. The difference in temperature its immediate, and you sigh at the warmth inside the old building. Winter can go fuck itself already.

Lexa’s  twirling something in her fingers when you get there, her eyes following the ring intently.You plop down next to her on the couch, and it’s endearing how you startle her. 

“What’s that?” you ask.

“A ring,” she says, her expression blank.

“Mockery is not the product of a strong mind, Lexa,” you try to tease her, but she doesn’t look up at you. You’ve actually been closer to what you used to be when you shared a room together the past few days, but she’s apparently not in the mood this afternoon.  The ring she plays with is small and delicate, a thin black band with a red stone on top, a swirling pattern of words winding around it in tiny scripture. 

“Memento mori,” you read out loud, and she looks up at you then. “What does that mean?”

“It’s latin,” Lexa explains. “Its means, more or less, ‘remember that you will die’.”

You swallow. She seems so serious when she says it.

“Well, that’s not macabre at all,” you say, trying to lighten the mood.

“It was a gift.”

“Oh.” Way to go, Griffin. “Sorry. From who?”

“My gi- my ex-girlfriend,” Lexa says. You don’t mention the slip up, but you do take note of it, in the list you’ve been building in your mind of who Lexa is.  _ Who broke her heart? _

“It’s gorgeous,” you say, and you mean it. It is. It also seems impossibly sad for an inanimate object, and you don’t like Lexa’s expression when she looks at it.

“Did you do your part?” She asks quickly, changing the subject. You pull out your laptop.

After twenty minutes, you’re bored. Your patience is ever waning for written projects, and perhaps you were naive enough to believe that being an art major would relieve you from the annoying, mundane subjects the american education system decides you should all take regardless of major. You don’t know how Lexa does it, and with a double major no less. 

“So...did you have fun with your parents during the holidays?” You ask her, hoping to rope her into a conversation. Partly because you like hearing her speak, partly so she won’t realize you’ve advanced very little in the past ten minutes.

“Yes, it was quite alright,” she says. 

“Yeah? What did you do?”

“Just...had a party,” she says. You wait for her to elaborate. “For New Year's Eve,” she adds. You nod, and put away your laptop on the desk. Now that you’re here you might as well charge it.

“That’s great. Did you see your old friends from high school?” Had you looked up, you would’ve seen the way her expression closed off little by little. Had you looked up, you wouldn’t have asked again.

“Lexa?” You’re startled by the loud sound of a bag’s zipper.

“Can you email me your part?” Lexa says quickly, hitching her bag up her shoulder and closing her laptop shut. “I’ll put everything together, okay?” 

You can do nothing but blink as she leaves. You’re so shocked by her violent change in attitude that it takes you a moment to go after her, even if you don’t understand what the hell just happened.

“Hey, Lexa!” You call out, walking after her down the hallway. You left your coat back on the coach and it’s freezing out there. “I’m sorry. Did I say something wrong?”  You grab her elbow when you get close enough and she spins around.

“Lexa,” you breathe.

“Stop,” she says softly, though she’s not looking at you at all. You don’t recognize her, the trembling chin or the wet eyes.

“Did I say something wrong? Talk to me.” You’ve never felt so violently protective of anyone before, and the feeling shakes you. You try to touch her arm but she takes a step back, and a chillingly familiar blankness comes over her face. She straightens up so she’s taller than you, and then those piercing green eyes stare right at your blue ones.

“I don’t want to talk to you,” she says, voice stronger than her whole body looks. “Apparently I can't get rid of you, either. So will you do me a fucking favor and stop. Just -just stop.” 

She turns around quickly and this time you don’t follow after her. You're done with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you, Clarke? Are you really? 
> 
> The social media post with Clarke, Raven and O's dorm room, their precious mini fridge, and a bunch of other stuff, is [here](http://reyandsmoak.tumblr.com/post/142307195906/the-one-where-clarke-thought-she-couldnt-stand), if that's your sort of thing. 
> 
> Let me know what you think!


	10. february, part two

You go back to your room fuming.

Raven and Octavia aren’t there and you're glad. Maybe you had it coming. Maybe you’ve been trying to force someone who wants to be alone into being friends with you and maybe you really didn't owe her anything after not telling her you were going to move out. Maybe you should take her advice and just stop -but you’re afraid you don’t know how. You don’t really know what hurts worse, that for a moment she looked on the verge of crying, of the way she absolutely sent you to hell. You don’t understand why it matters to you so much. You’re done.

You toy with the idea of asking Bellamy to change your partner, but you’re two weeks into the assignment already and, much like not requesting another roommate, you feel like you’d be letting her win. She was a fucking liar when she said you weren’t at war, because apparently you are and it’s on her.

You’re mad at Lexa for being such a bitch, and you’re mad at yourself for still worrying about her despite that fact.  ‘ _Apparently I can't get rid of you.’_ Honestly, fuck her.  

.:.

You send the photo to your mother. The fruit plate is colorful and full to the brim and you hope it will assuage her worries that you’re not having a healthy enough diet. You smother your pancakes with syrup while you bite off a piece of bacon. The fruit can wait.

“Hey, do you mind?” Someone asks, and you shake your head, pulling your sketchpad closer to you. You look up, meeting a familiar set of dark eyes.

“Finn, the roommate,” you say.

“Clarke, the friend,” he says in kind. You shake your head, mindful of how you were just scarfing down breakfast. You take a drink of your orange juice and hope there’s not anything in your teeth.

“Oh, we’re not friends, we just have a history project together.” He doesn’t mention how proper classes hadn’t even started when you went looking for Lexa. You don’t mention how there are at least two other empty tables in the cafeteria and he chose this one.

“Oh, okay.” He takes a bite out of his french toast. “She seems-”

“Hey, where did you get that?” You interrupt him, partly because you don’t want to talk about Lexa, and partly because you really wanted some french toast and there wasn’t any when you got your plate.

“The cook likes me,” he says, smirking. You smile. “I’ll give you a piece of mine if you give me a piece of yours,” he says, pointing to your plate, and you honestly can not remember when was the last time you snorted over a terrible suggestive line with some boy. It’s so easy. It’s fun.

“You got yourself a deal,” you say, passing him a piece of  bacon in return for french toast.

“Did you draw that?” He asks, looking at your sketchbook. It’s open in a lazy drawing of the trees outside the cafeteria building. It’s nothing special, but it always feels good to have someone look at what you do and decide they like it.

“Mmnh,” you nod. “Art major.”

“It’s beautiful,” he says, looking straight at you, and it makes your stomach pleasantly warm.  It’s so easy. It’s fun.

.:.

“Clarke, wake up!”

“No, if she’s asleep-”

“Don’t worry, she has to learn to wake up before 10 anyways, it’s a disgrace. Clarke!” A pillow hits you on the back, and you groan, burrowing further under your pillows.

“Really, it’s okay,” a familiar voice says, and that more than anything is what makes you twist around and peek over the border of your loft bed. Octavia stands on her PJ’s, hands on her waist, towel thrown over her shoulder. But your eyes are on the brown-haired girl clad in jeans, boots, and a thick sweater, standing right outside your door. What the hell is Lexa doing here?

“I’m taking a shower,” Octavia announces before disappearing into your shared bathroom.

It’s been two days since you last saw her, and you still hadn’t formulated a plan for the next time you’d see her, or how the rest of your group project would go. It’s not needed now.

You throw your blankets off, swearing under your breath at the chill in the room. You climb down from your bed, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. You don’t even want to think of how your hair must look while Lexa looks as put together as always. You stand in front of her.

The cold from the hallway seeps in and you wrap your arms around yourself. It hits you too late that you’re not wearing a bra, and if her quick glance is any indication, Lexa notices. You don’t care.

“My behavior this past tuesday was unwarranted,” she says. “I'd like to apologize.”

“For being such an absolute asshole?” You ask. You expect her to tell you off again, to become combative when it comes so easily to her, but she doesn’t.

“Yes,” she says simply, face blank. Accepting. It unsettles you. Her expression is so open and unguarded and you wonder what the hell makes someone think they can act like that?

“You think it's that easy? What the hell is _wrong_ with you Alexandria?” you ask, and she flinches. You know now how her full name bothers her. You know how she always stiffens up when someone addresses her as that. You know she trusted you with her name and it’s why you know it’ll hurt her. She doesn’t answer, doesn’t really _explain_.

“I’m sorry,” she says, and you can see in the shine of her eyes, in the absence of the blank mask she usually wears -how much she _means_ it. “Clarke?”   

You say nothing. After a moment, she nods, and walks away from your door. So you were in the right, and maybe you wanted her to hurt, so why is it still breaking your fucking heart?

.:.

“Look,” Raven tells you.

“Huh?” You’re sitting outside the cafeteria with Raven, enjoying the warmth of the sun on your skin as winter finally abates, and you really have no desire to open your eyes. “It’s Lexa and some girl.” You look. All you told Raven and Octavia was that you and Lexa weren’t seeing eye to eye, you’ve all been too busy, and you don’t want to drag them into it. Lexa is talking to the same girl you caught walking out of your room last year. Tall, blond hair and black roots that she somehow can really pull off.

“Killer cheekbones,” you say outloud to Raven.

“You think that’s the girlfriend?” She asks.

“No,” you say. You remember how devastated Lexa looked when talking about her ex-girlfriend. Unless they got back together. Either way, it’s not your problem.

“Sister?” Raven asks.

“They don’t look anything alike,” you point out.

“Neither do Bell and O.”

“Good point,” you say. You look away from Lexa, all tense lines and posture as she talks to the woman in the distance. And yet she apologized to you, not a hint of defense in her. You huff. “Let’s go back inside.”

.:.

You prop up your feet on the chair in front of you and sigh. Lexa is already 15 minutes late.

She texted you to meet up and finish up the first part of your assignment (her texts just underneath the ‘Merry Christmas’ you’d sent so long, mocking you) but she hasn’t showed. You’re contemplating texting her to see if she’s coming at all -because Lexa is never late- when you see her through the large floor-to-ceiling windows of the library, her messenger bag slipping off her shoulder, a cup of coffee on each hand.

She pushes the door open with her back, a balancing act, really, before looking around for you. Her eyes land on you, and she makes her way there. Lexa sets down one of large cups on the table in front of you, and digs inside her jacket, pulling out sugar packets and creamer.

“You bought me coffee once, when we lived together,” she says quietly. “I thought it was time to return the favor.” She looks at you but you keep your expression blank, or so you hope.

She’s groveling. You know what groveling looks like and she’s - _goddamn_. (She’s such a pretty girl and you’ve always had a weakness for pretty, pretty girls. And this one looks damn sorry.)

She sits down, pushes her hair behind her ears. She doesn’t look at you when she speaks.

“I don’t like talking about my parents,” she says. “My holidays weren’t very pleasant.” She clears her throat. It’s like she’s forcibly pulling the words out of herself, like they’re rusted metal she’s dragging out of her windpipe. “You asked and I overreacted. I didn’t mean what I said.” She sneaks a look at you from the corner of her eye, and this time you can’t help the expression on your face. You thought she was an asshole, you pettily wanted her to hurt. But you can't keep wishing that when you see how much she’s seemingly hurting herself already with those words. “You didn't deserve it. I’m very sorry.”

“Okay,” you say. “I’m sorry about your holidays. I get it. What if you'd told me that instead of…” You wave your hand, not really sure how to describe her actions.

“Noted,” she says. You want to ask about her parents. You want to know what hurt her so badly that she’d bolt at the mere mention, and even though you know what happened -now that she’s given you an explanation. You still don’t know how to feel.

.:.

“Hey!”

“Finn.” You smile. You haven’t seen him around campus much since that morning a few days ago. You learned he’s a Politics major, and it struck you as odd, since he seemed like a genuinely nice person, not cut out for a job in that field might entail. Then again, you don’t know him.

“Visiting our humble abode?” He asks, walking down the steps of Lexa’s dorm building.

“I used to live here, you know? I know there’s nothing humble about the TV room,” you tease.

“You lived here?” He asks.

“Yeah.” You don’t know why you don’t want to give away the next bit of information. “I used to be Lexa’s roommate, actually.”

“Really?” He walks with you up the stairs, and you don’t mention how he was about to leave already. “Why did you move out?”

“Just...moved in with my friends. We have a triple over at Sky Hall.”

“Oh. Well, I feel like I have to thank you. Lexa’s the best roommate I’ve had.”

“Really?” The surprise is crystal clear in your voice. You hope your exertion over climbing the stairs covers it up. You really should get on exercising.

“Yeah. I mean, she’s nice enough, and quiet, and her side of the room is always clean. I wouldn’t say we’re friends but we don’t bother each other.” He shrugs, but all you can think about is how you were at each other’s throats for months. How much you fought and over the littlest of things, the petty insults, the jokes at each other’s expense. And then one good month you had. Was it something about you? Had you been better at first would you two have gotten along? It doesn’t matter, since you were always planning to move in with O and Raven, but you can’t help but wonder. You notice Finn is talking, and you aren’t paying attention.

“Sorry, what?”

“This is your floor,” he says.

“Oh, yeah.”

“So...I’ll see you around?” He asks, offering you a tentative smile. There’s something endearing about him.  

“Yes, sure. I’d like that,” you say. He waves as he turns around and goes back down the stairs.

.:.

When you walk into Lexa’s room, there's a hot cup of coffee already waiting for you on the table.

It weakens your resolve a little, because you said you were done trying to be friends with her, trying to stand her at all and you know she was an asshole, for most of the time you were rooming together and last week as well. You know she has baggage, and part of you is wary that she’ll shit on you the first time she gets. But also...she’s trying. You can see she’s trying. And you can’ t hold onto your anger, it slips through your fingers like smoke -as if you never really had a grasp on it in the first place.

You grab the coffee as you sit down on Finn’s bed, your old one.  You can’ t hold onto your anger, and you don’t want to. You let it go.

You’re quiet as you work, and time goes by fast. Soon enough your phone is blowing up with your friend’s texts as they make sure everything is ready for next friday’s’ little meet up. You set it on mute, and look up to find Lexa with her eyes trained on you already. She looks away.

“You don't have to keep buying me coffee, you know,” you say, downing the last dregs of the capuccino. “We’re fine.”

“We are?” She asks, achingly vulnerable. You sigh, and then nod, offering her a smile.

“Friends?” You ask, because you have a feeling if you don't offer to bridge that gap she never would make the first step.  You extend your hand across the chasm between the two beds -where you’d seen her exercising in the middle of the night, where she’d threatened to burn your dirty clothes and you’d stood when you found her crying in her sleep. You expect her to shake your hand, but she simply grabs it and holds on.

“I’d like that.”


	11. february, part three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I invite you to listen to ‘10 am gare du nord’ by Keaton Henson if you haven’t already. It's the most Clexa song. Just. do it you guys. It’s a good time.

The snow starts to melt as february flies away. Finally, you can consistently enjoy the warmth of the sun and leave your thickest coat in your dorm. The trees are still bare and it’s still a pain to wake up because the cold makes you sleepy and lazy, yet slowly but surely, winter gives way to spring. The weather itself is moving forward, and you feel like you are too.

.:.

“I can ask Octavia for help,” you offer Lexa. With most of the first part of your project done, you and Lexa have been brainstorming topics to investigate for the ‘everything but the research paper’ thing Bellamy is so fond off -and you’re stumped. “O was really into greek stories when we were younger, and Bellamy-”

“Is our TA, and you’d be asking Octavia to ask Bellamy,” Lexa interrupts. “And we can’t.”

She sits on the far edge of her bed, notebook cradled in her lap. She’s wearing leggings and a sweater and her hair is in a bun -you missed seeing her so unguarded. She’s been on her best behaviour since the past week, and you’ve long since moved past her outburst.  

“The Civil War,” you say, pitching the idea.

“It’s too big a topic, and someone probably already picked it.”

You sigh.

“Pompeii?” You remember the movie about the city falling beneath an active volcano, and it’s not a topic you’d absolutely loathe talking about. Plus, it would give you an excuse for movie night Lexa could not reject.

“That’s a good one.” She writes it down in her notebook, in her small, neat hand writing.  “How about The Manhattan Project?” Lexa asks, and then explains further after taking one look at your face. “It was the project that produced the first nuclear weapons during World War II.”

“Okay, cool,” you say. “I mean, _not_ cool, but-” She laughs and you throw a pillow at her. “Just write it down, will you?”

You try to get her to come to one of Bellamy’s weekly bashes again, later, but that doesn’t pan out. You think Lexa is more comfortable in the shadows, in the quiet; but you don’t plan on giving up.

.:.

“Nachos night.” The words sound almost silly coming out of Lexa’s mouth.

You nod. You decided to invite her on a whim. She’s still quiet and you’re still tentative, but none of you have treated the other badly in what feels like record time. It’s almost like december again, and you want to consolidate that, somehow. Hence, inviting Lexa over to Nachos night.

“Yup.” You pop the ‘p’ and Lexa smiles. “Everyone chips in with an ingredient and we meet up and, just,” you shrug, “you know, have fun.” You’re pretty proud of your friends for consistently making those happen even after high school. “Wholesome family fun. Jenga, card games. Bellamy likes playing UNO. We keep saying we have to learn to play poker since we’re in college now.”

“I know how to play poker,” Lexa says.

“You would,” you say, smiling at her, and pointedly ignore the look she gives you. “I’m tasked with bringing a jar of salsa and I bought it yesterday. So...Nachos night?” You’re waiting for her excuse, and you know it’s coming.

“Come on. Have you had dinner already?” You ask, and you’ve been here since 4 and it’s nearing 6, so you’re pretty sure of the answer.

“No,” Lexa says.

“It’ll be fun,” you insist. Lexa just gives you a look she should have trademarked.

“I don’t have anything to bring,” she says, and you repress a smile.

“It’s cool, we’ll both get in with my salsa and you can bring something the next time.” You don’t know why you mention the next time like it’s a given Lexa will stick around after Spring Break, but you ignore that for now. You send a quick text to your group chat to let them know to expect Lexa, and pick up your things, making your way to Bellamy’s frat house. Even though he has an apartment of his own now, he still uses their rec room like it’s no one’s business, and it works out like a charm.

.:.

“Welcome to nachos night, Lexa Woods. Where we celebrate my heritage, traditions, and generally how awesome I am.” Raven opens the door to you and you roll your eyes.

“Everything in here is store-bought but the chili, and my brother made that,” Octavia tells Lexa, as she walks in front of you carrying plastic cups in her hands.

“And he’s another person of color who should be celebrated,” Raven says. You smile to yourself and walk in, taking off your scarf. Lexa trails after you, and you can see she feels overwhelmed already. Your friends are something else.

“I don’t think they make nachos in the Philippines, Raven,” Octavia says.

“How would you know?” Raven asks.

“Half-siblings, if you hadn’t noticed,” Octavia tells Lexa, and you appreciate she being nice to her. You know she stills feels bad about last year. “But he bothers me like one and half.”

“That doesn’t make sense, O,” Bellamy says, walking out of the rec room.

“Shush,” Octavia tells him.  “Everyone play nice, Lincoln is outside.”

You grab Lexa’s wrist to pull her further inside the house and she jumps at the touch. She’s skittish, you know this, but you don’t think you actually get how much.

Octavia welcomes Lincoln at the door, and it’s a testament to how distracted her brother is for some reason that it's Raven the first one who fake gags when they kiss.

“Brought the guacamole,” he offers Raven as a peace offering.

“Always good to see you, Lincoln, my dude.” Raven shakes the jar victoriously. “Just like my abuelita used to do it.”

“Lexa,” Lincoln says, looking over your shoulder, and you’re sure how surprised you are shows in your face. You’re not the only one.

Lexa gives him a small “Hi”.

“You guys know each other?” You ask, dumbfounded.

“Yeah, I mean, sort of. I’m roommates with her cousin,” Lincoln explains.

“Scary Anya is Lexa’s cousin?” Octavia asks. “No offense!” She’s quick to tell Lexa, but you see she’s not bothered.

“None taken. I think she’d be flattered, actually.”  

 _“_ Wait, is that killer cheekbones?” Raven asks, and apart from you and Octavia everyone gives her an odd look. You didn’t even know Lexa had a cousin who went to school with you. You realize, you actually don’t know much about Lexa at all. Raven turns to Lexa. “Blond, asian, looks like she would kill a man.”

Lexa nods.

“Well, that’s a coincidence,” Raven says.  

“Small world,” you say, and you can’t help but wonder if you hadn’t been her roommate your first semester of college if you still would have met Lexa eventually, somehow.

Not as small as the rec room will be if you don’t help move the couches before everyone gets here,” Bellamy chimes in.

You move the couches. Soon enough Monty arrives with Miller in tow, shortly followed by who you recognize as Murphy from your history class. He quickly makes himself comfortable at Bellamy’s side on the couch.

After a quick peek at your cell phone you realize that your friends decided it would be time to bring new people into the circle now that you brought Lexa, so the new faces make more sense. You can see how Lexa’s shoulder lose a little tension when she realizes she’s not the only one who’s there for the first time, and you're glad.

You sit next to Lexa on the couch, Octavia and Lincoln squeezed in at your side. The coffee table in the middle of the room is brimming with food, and Jasper is already shuffling the Cards Against Humanity. From the corner of your eyes you see Lexa relax as time goes on, and when you meet her eyes to pass her a beer she smiles at you, for the time unprompted. Octavia not-so-subtly pinches your side and you ignore her.

It’s a messy, lovely little family meeting, and you wouldn’t change it for the world.

.:.

“So, Lexa, ever had the pleasure of fine Tex-Mex cuisine?” Raven asks. Lexa’s been quiet all night, but you can see she’s having a good time. None of the usual tension is bringing her down.

“My cousin’s Mexican, actually,” she says, and you think she might be tipsy already. Some of your friends laugh. Lexa's eyes are bright and green and you don’t know how Jasper and Monty can be immersed in a game of Jenga in the corner of the room, because Lexa commands attention. “Her name’s Luna. When I was younger we used to visit them quite a bit, until my uncle -that’s my father’s brother- passed away. She lives in Jalisco.”

It’s one of the longest things you’ve ever heard her say without stopping, and you think right then that you could really listen to her speak for forever. Your friends are quiet around you, but you barely notice. That is, until Octavia chimes in.

“Raven failed 11th grade Spanish,” she says, and you laugh. Lexa does, too, and that’s the best of it.

.:.

The walk back to Lexa’s building is quiet. The pavement is wet with rain water, and though snow still clings to the corners of the sidewalk, you can feel winter is on its last legs.

When Lexa excused herself saying she had an 8am class the next morning it was a given you'd stand up and leave with her, walking her back to her dorm. She didn’t expect it, and you can come up with a hundred reasons why you won’t let this girl walk home alone at night, but the top one is that you simply don’t want your time together to be over.

“I had fun tonight,” you say, as you climb up the stairs to the third floor. It’s deadly quiet, everyone already in their rooms for the night.

“Me too,” she says quietly, the corners of her mouth lifting into this smile you’re not sure she’s aware of.

“So this is your stop,” you say. “Hard to forget.”

She nods. Her eyes are a little glazed over, just a little unfocused. Raven broke out the tequila after the nachos were gone, and you’re almost as tipsy as Lexa is. The alcohol makes you silly and soft and overly friendly. It makes you brave.

“We should do this again sometime, you know?” You tell her. “Even after we’re done with our project. I’d like for us to be friends, Lexa. I mean it. I really like you.”

The words escape your mouth one after the other, and you don’t ask her why she’s sad and you don’t tell her you think she’s pretty. You don’t tell her how much she intrigues you. It’s late and you’re cold and you like her, so that's what comes out.

She looks up at you with surprise, and it aches to think about, why she would be.

Her gaze is all half-lidded green eyes fogged up with intoxication and it makes you _weak_ in the barest sense of the word. You're halfway to drunk and she’s so beautiful and vulnerable you might float right out of your body. Lexa takes a step closer, mouth slightly open but no words coming out. You think she might kiss you and your heart beats hard, _so hard._ It’s pounding on your chest, climbing right out of your ribcage.

She throws her arms around you instead.

“Oh, _sweet girl_.” You bring your arms around her, and hug her back just as tightly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Touched starved drunk Lexa hugging Clarke on a whim was one of the first scenes I wrote out of this whole fic. It has a special place in my heart. This chapter was one of my favorites to write, so do let me know what you think! 
> 
> PS: If you’re still watching the show: tonight’s episode has a trigger warning for dubious consent and self-harm, so please be safe.


	12. march, part one

“I’m never drinking again,” Raven groans from underneath her blankets, and even with how far up and buried beneath pillows you are, the self-disgust rings loud and clear.

“It’s saturday, it’s fine,” you moan, turning over as you kick off a blanket. It’s finally warming up and you almost welcome the discomfort of having to remove layers. Your head pounds with your hangover,  but the memory of last night is still bright and clear at the forefront of your mind.  You don’t think all the booze in the world could erase the feel of Lexa’s arms tight around you. Because it was just nice to be held by someone, and despite all the alcohol she still smelled good, so tired and soft in your arms it made your chest ache with how trusted you felt. (You don’t want to think of why, it’s too early for that self-reflecting bullshit.)

“I have to meet with my electronic engineering group to finish a project,” Raven explains, and you groan in sympathy -for the hour and for the fact you have no idea what that class even entails.  “I want to punch myself,” she says.

“If you keep talking I’ll do it for you,” Octavia pipes up, voice croaky with sleep. You chuckle and turn over in time to see Raven dragging herself out of bed and hopping to the shower.

“Don’t wait on me for breakfast,” she says, and Octavia groans again in response. You more or less go back to sleep until Raven finishes up with the shower, and then do rock-paper-scissors with one of the girls next door to use it yourself. You win.

After a semester of communal showers the small bathroom feels as close to heaven as you’re going to get. The girls living next door to you are as clean as you could hope, and apart from the odd razor left next to the sink, it’s not a bad arrangement. The white marble floor is clean enough for you to welcome not wearing flip-flops every time you take a shower, though your mom would probably disagree with that practice. 

You relish the warm water and spend more time than necessary washing your hair -until Octavia walks in to brush her teeth, threatening to pull you out if you don’t hurry. You sigh and turn the water off.

Outside, the last of the snow seems to have melted overnight, and it’s clashing to see the wet sidewalk so bare after months of grey-white slush on every corner. You’re not complaining. 

The cafeteria is buzzing with energy when you and Octavia walk in, equal parts cramming for mid-terms and planning for Spring Break. You and your friends have yet to come up with something, but you’re sure you’re spending it together. Raven and Octavia have been planning week long road trips for your first college Spring Break since you were all fifteen.

You’re going to bring it up to her when you nearly bump into a familiar face.

“Clarke.”

“Lexa.” 

“Good morning,” she says, her cheeks pink, and you can’t tell if it’s because of the chill outside or something else -but it’s a good look on her.

“Morning,” Octavia says. “I see Nyko on the back,” she tells you, talking about one of Lincoln’s friends, and then nods at Lexa. “Woods.“

“How’s your head?” You ask Lexa once Octavia is gone, and she furrows her brow in confusion. “Since we all had a bit too much to drink last night.” Though Lexa doesn’t look it. She seems as put together as always and you know for a fact she was drunker than you. Bless the lucky ones.

“Yes. About that, I wanted to- I was drunk. I shouldn’t have-”

“Hugged me?” You ask, genuinely confused, because you knew she’d probably be embarrassed about clinging to you last night but you never thought it would warrant an apology. “I thought we were friends.”

She blinks. “We are. I just-”

“Lexa. You hugged me. You didn’t shove your tongue down my throat. And believe me, one of my friends did that when he was drunk, and we’re still friends.” You and Bellamy never talk about it anymore, thank God. 

She blushes a little more at your crass admission, and you try not to smile. She’s sweet, even your drunk self could see that. 

Your written work for history is done, and you decided to wing it for the 2 minutes each you have to talk about the Manhattan Project this tuesday (you figured at least one of you should actually know what they're talking about) so it’s not like you have an academic reason to invite her, but-

“Do you want to join me for breakfast?” 

She nods, it seems, without thinking about it at all.

.

You’re lying down in bed, the lights out on most of the dormitories already, and you’re spiraling inside your own head. Raven’s ten minutes into a tirade about one of her classmates when she calls your name.

“What are you thinking about?” she asks, and you’re glad she can’t actually see your face from her bottom bunk. You don’t even look to your left because you don’t want to meet Octavia’s disbelieving stare.

“Nothing.” It wouldn’t go over well if you said ‘Lexa laughing so hard she snorted at breakfast today’, and you don’t want to linger on it too much yourself.

“How’s your history project going?” Octavia asks, and you feel like closing your eyes at her tone.

“The professor extended the deadline to next week.” Lexa had texted you the news plus a picture of the e-mail -which you’re quite sure Bellamy wrote- this afternoon, and you’d actually laughed at her use of an emoji, because it was  _ Lexa.  _

You don’t know yet what you plan on doing with your history project, but you know she’s swamped with her majors and you have so many things to turn in for next week it hurts to think about, so you don’t. 

That’s the only reason she’s been on your mind lately. You wonder a lot about her and you’re spending more time together, and your work.

“I’m not actually asking about your history project,” Octavia says, and you figured as much.

“Then ask. You can. I know you’re dying to.”

“Did you figure out your shit with Lexa?” Octavia asks.

“Yeah.  I mean, she has issues.” You remember all those months of fighting and then those times where she fled like a skittish deer, all the pain you can see swimming under the surface of her irises. “I don’t know why but she does and maybe it’s not my place, you know, to ask her about it. But she’s a good person.”

“You like her,” Raven says. Your stomach flips over at being called out on things you don’t want to think about yet.

“Yeah, of course I like her.” You brush it off. “I just said she’s nice.”

“Don’t make me say ‘like her,  _ like  _ her’ like a pre-teen, Clarke,” Raven begs.

“Or something gross like ‘have feelings for’,” Octavia adds. You get the urge to hide.  

“No. I-” You huff. “She’s gorgeous. Of course she’s gorgeous, of course I’ve noticed.” You’ve never seen eyes so beautiful, so  _ green _ even when everything around was colorless and winter washed-out. “But she’s not looking for that and to be honest neither am I. We’re just friends.”

It’s the truth.You’re not looking for a girlfriend, and if the way Lexa jumped when you brought up her ex all those weeks ago is anything to go by, neither is she. You don’t touch their questions about your feelings though, it’s too late  for that self-reflecting bullshit.

“Besides, I’m friends with you two,” you say cheekily. “I have plenty of experience being friends with pretty girls without falling for them.”

You hear Raven snort.

“Flattery will get you everywhere.”

You’re all quiet for a minute, and it only takes that for doubt to set in. You’d never pick someone new over your friends. All through high school they’ve been the first people you go to when you have a crush on someone or when someone asked you out. You called them the night you lost your virginity while the guy slept next to you.  And you don’t see Lexa that way, you don’t, but you want all of you to be friends and until now you hadn't asked Raven and Octavia about it. 

“Don’t you like her?” you ask, trying to sound nonchalant, but their answer matters to you. 

“We don’t really know her, Clarke,” Octavia says, and that’s fair enough. 

“You were nice to her the other night,” you point out, and turn on your side to meet Octavia’s eyes as she lies on her top bunk. 

“Because she didn’t give us a reason not to be, but I mean….You spent an entire semester complaining about her and telling us how terrible she was. And now you get this look-”

“What look?” you ask, heart beating faster.

“What Octavia means,” Raven pops in, her voice carrying up to your bed in the small bedroom. “Is that we may have had and idea of what Lexa was like and then one day you changed your mind about it-”

“Like Stockholm Syndrome,” O says. Raven sighs.

“And maybe we haven’t catched up yet,” Raven says. “We don’t really know her, that’s all.”

“Can you trust me when I tell you I was wrong and she’s an amazing person?” you ask your friends. “Please?”

“Of course,” Raven says after a second.

“O?” She studies you for a moment before nodding.

“What if she decides to be a bitch to you again?” Octavia asks, and it’s not like you haven’t thought about it. Lexa’s behaviour was so rash and unexpected at times it left you reeling, but you’ve chalked it up as a defense mechanism of hers -she’s not a bad person. She just has a past, and so do you.

“She won’t,” you tell O, and you really hope it’s true.

“Okay, then done,” she says. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

.

The entire campus buzzes with activity on monday. Even lying on your bed inside your room you can feel it, right down to the hurried steps of the people outside. Spring Break is right around the corner and mid-terms have everyone frantic, including you. It wasn’t this bad last year. Sure, you had to buckle up a little, but you handed in your work and wrote a couple of essays and you were on your way. Now? Now you’re stressed as fuck.

The first week of March churns along, and more than going with it you feel like it is dragging you. You can’t finish your pieces and the one’s you do are uninspired. You have to hand in 7 as your final project, utilizing a variety of techniques in each one, and you're stumped.

You’ve been able to fly through to college easily, never really feeling that desperation all those buzzfeed posts told you about. Apart from the last week of the semester last year, you’ve been really fucking chill. You love your major. You love most of your classes, and the ones you don’t enjoy that much you can spend on your cellphone and then cram for the exams. You’re not used to the pressure. 

You spent high school thinking you’d be a doctor and would only do art for yourself -you made yourself believe that it would work better that way, that you’d enjoy it. And then you accepted this is what you wanted to do and never looked back. You went through a week of the silence treatment from your mom and too many fights to count and you cried (how you cried). So it fucking terrifies you that you can’t make yourself produce something when you're supposed to, when this is exactly what it will mean to be an artist full time. 

You will need to make art people want to buy, you’ll have commissions, you need to be able to draw and paint on command. If a fucking final assingment has you tearing your hair out, how the hell are you supposed to live like this? Maybe your mom was right. Maybe med-school was the right choice. Medicine came easily to you, you loved to help people -it would’ve been fine. You’re not in the business of doubting yourself but every second that goes by with an empty page in front of you and stress hanging like a black cloud over your head, you do.

You’ve tried everything. Coffee to pull an all nighter where you got exactly nothing but sub-par work done. Then detoxing from all the coffee to get a good night's sleep and start over fresh. Not even orgasms help relaxing you, and that had never failed to make your mind pleasantly blank for a few minutes before.

You didn’t feel like calling Niylah or finding some random guy at a party, so your own hand in the shower of your shared bathroom had to do. You were halfway there when a familiar face with bright green eyes and full lips entered your mind’s eye, and you tried to think about anything else. That quickly turned into the saddest bout of rubbing one out you’ve ever done. 

With the deadline extension you don’t have to worry about history until next week, but you still have an essay to finish, and then there’s these seven pieces, of which you have two, maybe three if you’re willing to hand in something shitty. You turn in bed, groaning.

“Anyone else feel like they have so much to do, they just won't do anything?”

“Here,” Octavia says from her place on the floor.

“Correct,” Raven seconds. “It’s not helping that my team mate is an idiot.”

“I’m right here,” a voice says from her laptop speakers.

“I know, Wick. Did you finish what I sent you?”

You sigh. The atmosphere in your room is stifling for the first time, your blankets are too warm and your mattress is too small and too close to the roof. You want out of here. You climb down from your loft bed and pick a pair of jeans off the floor. You pull them on, careful not to step on Octavia who is spread eagle between the bunks.

“I’ll be back later, see if the fresh air jostles somes ideas.” You close your pants and grab a beanie from the foot of Octavia’s bed. “We still ordering pizza later?”

“Yup,” Octavia says, her mouth worryingly close to the dirty floor.

“You got it,” Raven confirms.

You grab your backpack from your desk and get out of there.

 

There’s a park in front of your dorm building, a large green area with a stone walkway running through, benches on either side. The ground is too wet to sit on it, but you are already planning to sunbathe when the weather gets warmer, maybe get some highlights in your hair.

The rich, earthy-sweet smell of the ground hits you as you sit down on one of the benches, slightly covered in mist. The frost comes out of the earth slowly, and you can’t wait for the trees to bloom around campus. It’s quiet, only a few people on the benches near you, since most of the student body is probably in the library or studying inside.  It’s the perfect spot to draw -you’re just not feeling it

You pull out your sketchbook and a pencil. You can always draw a tree for hyperrealism. Trees have yet to fail you. You drag your hand down your face. It’s a testament to how desperate you are that you’re actually considering it-

“Hey.”

You look up at the voice, and can’t keep in a smile when Lexa stands there, brown hair loose and holding out a cup of coffee for you. You grab it, noticing how cold your hands were when the warm radiating from it makes you jump.

“I thought you were done buying me coffee,” you say, and you move your backpack so she can sit down next to you. 

“You look like you need it,” she says, and then trips over her words. “I mean, you look -You look upset.”

“It’s just.” You shake your head. “It’s nothing.” Lexa’s brow is furrowed as she studies you, you think -she’s lovely. “Actually, would you like to help me with something?”

“Yes, of course,” she says quickly, and you smile when she bites her lip.

“Just stay still,” you tell her.

“What?” She looks down at your sketchbook with wide eyes.

“I need to draw a portrait for one of my classes and Raven spent the whole time making faces so it’s not that good,” you explain. It is pretty good, actually. You captured the emotions perfectly. It’s at least one piece you can hand in. But your fingers itch to draw Lexa,  for the first time in days you feel like putting pencil to paper because you want to, not because you have no choice.

“Oh. Okay.  Do I…? Do I just-”

“Just stay still,” you tell her gently. “Don’t look at me, though, look-”  You touch her chin gently and Lexa takes the hint and stares off into the distance. Your fingers prickle. “Yeah. Like that.” You don’t know when your voice dropped to a whisper.

You start with her eyes, to the chagrin of every art teacher you’ve ever had. You can wait to block out everything else before you take to drawing them. Her irises are such an intense green that you wish you had brought your copic markers or watercolors to try and get them right. You settle for drawing their shape and darkening her irises to show them sparkling with mirth. You draw the elegant line of her eyebrow, sketch the slope of her forehead, and then erase it, and then sketch it again. The coffee she bought for you sits forgotten on the bench.

It’s as if your pencil is caressing the lines that make up her face, shaping out the plumpness of her lips and the slight nervous smile that adorns them as you stare intently at her every feature. The thin line of her nose, her chin, the dip in her neck where you catch her swallowing. You shade out her hair quickly, a few heavy strokes to map out the shape that you’ll fill up later. The waves that frame her face and the wilder curls at the end of the strands. You use your finger to smudge the apple of her cheeks -again, to the chagrin of every art teacher you’ve ever had- and to soften the pout of her mouth. You drag your index finger down her nose, the drawing coming to live with every shade you apply.

Ten, fifteen minutes go by, until you’re happy with the rough sketch. 

“I’m done,” you say softly, and it shakes you both out of the pleasant silence you were submerged in, your own bubble of quiet in the middle of a busy campus. It’s like you can finally hear the noise around you, you were so completely focused on her.

Lexa stares at the sketchbook on your lap, and you bite your lip. It’s good, you know it is -but her opinion matters to you more than your own.

“It’s amazing,” she says quietly, and it send a pleasant shiver down your chest. “I look…” Innocent, young. Beautiful. That’s how you see her. Yet the drawing is nothing compared to her, you don’t think even if you were using color it would be. You could mix a hundred different paints and never manage to mimic the color of her eyes. Faint prickles in the back of your mind let you know you might be fucked.

Lexa furrows her brow and it doesn’t seem she’s going to finish that train of thought.

“You’re a good subject. Thank you.” You squeeze her arm gently, and she meet your eyes.

“Hey...do you wanna come to my dorm? We’re watching tv and ordering pizza. None of the shitty cafeteria stuff.” 

When she smiles and says “I’d like that” your stomach somersaults and you have to swallow. You are, without a doubt, most definitely, fucked.

.

“Wild. Horses.” Octavia’s eyes honest to God sparkle when she says it, and you already know you’re not going to be able to shoot that idea down. You’re all squeezed into Raven’s bed, her laptop showing pictures of an idyllic beach with horses running around. Lexa left an hour ago, with the promise that you two would get your shit together about your history project somewhere in the near future. Raven, Octavia and you made the executive decision to start planning out what you’re doing for Spring Break. You knew you wanted to go on a roadtrip, but apart from that, not much was clear. Until Octavia saw the horses.

“O, they are wild for a reason,” you remind her.

“Yeah, just because you’ve seen Flicka doesn’t mean you can tame a wild pony,” Raven tells her.

“They’re horses,” Octavia says.

“Ponies,” Raven doubles down, and you roll your eyes.

“So, small horses,” Octavia shrugs, and it almost rolls you right of the narrow bed.

“You want to drive all the way to Maryland. That’s …” Raven quickly types on her laptop. “138 miles. 3 hours.”

“We can do it,” Octavia says, and she was the last of you to get her driver’s license, partly because she’s a year younger, partly because she’s reckless. You just know you’ll end up driving for 3 hours straight if you agree to go.

“  _ ‘ _ _ Visitors can enjoy the world famous "wild horses" at Assateague’ _ . See, they’re horses,” O says.

“False advertisement,” Raven grumbles, but you meet her eyes and it’s already clear to the both of you that you’re going to go.

“  _ ‘The wildlife tour  _ _ or kayaking _ _  is a great way to see much of the refuge and its wildlife by boat or kayak’, _ ’” O  keeps reading from the website. “Oh, Lincoln would love that. And look, it’s cheap as fuck. $15 fee for a 7-day vehicle pass.”

“We’d have to buy our own food, and firewood,” you mention. Things are hardly ever as cheap as they sound, especially with how many of you are going if Monty, Jasper and Co are coming. And Bellamy. And Lincoln. 

“I’m not spending our entire Spring Break there either, O,” Raven says. You have to agree. There’s only so much ‘being one with nature’ you can endure.

“Yeah,” you say, and Octavia gives you a look you ignore. “What about Ocean City? We always wanted to go back.” You spent Raven’s 16th birthday there, and it’s one of your fondest memories.

“But, the horses,” O pouts, turning up the charm. You sigh. 

“Who says we can’t do both? Rae look up-”

“On it,” Raven tells you. “20 minutes away. It’s totally doable.” Raven clicks through the website and you try to read despite the  shadows on the screen from your position. “There’s even more stuff to do than when we went for my birthday, too.”

“‘ _ Hold onto your helmets! Jolly Roger presents our latest addition, the Cyclone Cart Coaster! _ ’” Octavia reads with an overly chipper voice. “ Fuck, I’m sold.” You laugh.

“ It’d be worth it to spend a couple of days there,” you say. 

“That won’t be cheap,” Raven points out.

“Can’t we sleep on our cars?” O asks. You drag Raven’s laptop in front of you, trying to find some info in the bright, cheerfully colored website. You’re pretty sure of the answer though.

“‘ _ Sleeping in any motor vehicle within the city limits of Ocean City is prohibited. _ ’” You read. “ _ ‘Sleeping on the beach is also not allowed.’ _  Yeah, no.”

“ We can just camp at the beach and make the trip every day,” Raven says. “It’ll only be 40 minutes.”

“Sites are…$30 a night. Between all of us it shouldn’t be that expensive.”

“I’m texting Monty.” You rest your hand on the floor and stretch to grab your cellphone from the top of your mini-fridge. Anything but getting up.

“My brother is set. He says he’s bringing four people,” Octavia announces. 

“So, we’re good?” You ask, and Octavia nods. Raven turns around and stares at the bottom of Octavia’s mattress.

“Our first college spring break,” she says wistfully. You send the text and leave your cell on the floor, turning on the bed too. “Did anyone else think we’d be going to some wild, massive parties and getting drunk and meeting new people?” Raven asks. You did. Before the accident, you all thought that. But jumping is hard for Raven now, and you know she very seldom trusts anyone enough to have sex with them because of her leg. 

“I thought I’d be escaping my brother and hooking up with every guy in sight,” Octavia says as she reads Lincoln’s texts, the same fond smile she gets whenever she talks to him on her face.

“And Wells would be taking care of all of us,” you say, and the mood sombers a little, like it does every time you bring up your old friend. You’ve all changed. “We’d get so drunk we’d puke and we’d run around in bikinis for a week.” You smile, a hint of sadness to it.  You’re much different people than you were when you were sixteen, and that’s not the type of freedom you crave anymore. “But this is better.”

“Yeah,” Raven agrees. “This is better.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello guys! I'm back! That was an awfully long wait, I know. 
> 
> I tried to answer in the comments and I posted on my tumblr about it, but I'm a film major, and I just spent the past few days filming and editing my first short -which was a lot more work than I thought it would be. Good news:I'm on vacation now, so new chapters will keep being every day from now on. 
> 
> We're moving along in the story right now, I'm excited for you to see the rest of march and of course, Spring Break.
> 
> You can find Clarke's drawing [here](http://reyandsmoak.tumblr.com/post/143031765126/the-one-where-clarke-draws-lexa-ch-12-of-twotw). And I post updates on the story/aesthethic posts/answer questions/anything [here](http://reyandsmoak.tumblr.com/tagged/always%20gold%20au), if that's your thing.
> 
> Thank you for waiting and let me know what you thought! I appreciate all your comments.


	13. march, part two

_"Of hunger and thirst (a Greek story tells us) dies a king amidst fountains and gardens;  
_ _I aimlessly weary at the confines, of this tall and deep blind library."_

Jorge Luis Borges

.

You hand in your seven pieces bright and early friday morning.

An hyperrealistic soda can done in acrylics, crushed and covered with water droplets, is the first thing in your packet. It’s one of the best things you’ve ever painted, and you finished it at your parent’s house when you went back for your birthday the past month. It’s the best damn thing you’re handing in for your assignment, hence why you put it first. It’s neat, all clean lines and a white background that you painstakingly made sure not to smudge. It’s not like your usual work. It seems...proffesional, you think. You hoped your professor would praise you over it and it would be enough to ignore the less-than-perfect drawings and paintings behind it.

His expression doesn’t change. You swallow. You can feel the eyes of all of your classmates on your back and it makes your neck prickle. Your professor has a reputation. Handing in your final assignment, student by student, while he stares at each piece and you’re all left to make out his facial expressions is pretty much a tradition. Everyone who’s taken this class has been where you are. He’s been known to fail people after only scratching his beard at their work or raising an eyebrow.

So the fact he doesn’t react at what you consider your best work? It’s not encouraging.

He moves onto your pencil drawing of Raven, her big dark eyes the focal point of the piece, her goofy expression transmitted through the drawing but not really captivating. It’s your own fault. You made the decision to perfect it late last night, thinking that it wouldn’t mess with the feel of it if you  worked on it some more, but it did.

He puts it down and picks up a painting of your dorm building done in dry pastels, the black paper you chose giving the light emanating from the windows a special sort of melancholy. You like it, you think you might send it to your mom and dad for safe keeping so you can have it once you’re done with college; something to look back upon.

He moves onto the watercolor painting, a piece of a woman’s naked back, her long brown hair covered in flowers. Your professor’s mouth moves slightly. He stares for a second and then runs through your colored pencils piece, an experimental one with buildings twisting themselves around a heart, and your charcoal drawing, two wolves playing.

Lexa’s portrait rounds up the collection.

Maya, one of the girls in your class, thought you were crazy for submitting another pencil drawing when he’d already assigned you one. You know the free choice is supposed to be everyone’s chance to pick a medium, to show your professor what you’re capable of. So many of your classmates decided to go the digital art route, which was allowed, you know someone even used sand -but you already had this one.

(That’s your excuse, you were lazy -it’s not the fact that you love it, that you feel like your poured yourself into it, that you genuinely enjoyed drawing it and couldn’t bear to keep that to yourself but rather had to show it to someone who might appreciate it. It’s not the fact you think Lexa is a true work of art.)

You chose to leave it alone, a rough sketch, all quick, faint lines, most of it done in the ten minutes she sat in front of you. You couldn’t bear to change a thing, that afternoon. She looked beautiful, innocent, soft and sweet -all the things you know she is, deep down. But after a few days of staring at the drawing you felt like there was something missing, because Lexa wasn’t just that, you knew that better than anyone. You’d caught her crying in her sleep, you’d seen the dark smudges beneath her eyes and you’ve been on the receiving end of her anger. But you didn’t know how to reflect that in paper, you had no idea how to show the mask she has, the veneer of pain that seems to separate her from the world. You didn't know -until this morning. You took a piece of charcoal and after a second of doubting yourself, ran in through the drawing.

Now, in your professor's hands, faint black smudges run around Lexa’s eyes and down her cheeks like dripping tears, like war-paint.

She looks fierce yet vulnerable, dangerous yet kind. Her soul shines out of her eyes, the dark around them offsetting the slight smile on her lips. She looks like a contradiction. You’re so busy looking at it you miss your professor's expression.

“This one,” he says, and you look up, surprised that he’s speaking -you can’t figure out his tone of voice. He hasn’t said anything at all to the people who came before you. Your heartbeat drums in your ears.

“There’s feeling here,” he tells you, then looks up at the class. “Art is meant to invoke a catharsis inside us,” he says. “It’s supposed to make us _feel_. Take note.” He turns back to you, and you’re too stunned to smile.  It’s the most praise he’s given any of you this semester. “Good job, Griffin.”

.

You meet Octavia and Raven for lunch still with high spirits. You want to bottle up the feeling and live in it forever, that relief that you did well in something you’ve been stressing about so pure and sweet it’s like a high.

“Did your professor give you an A or did he slip you some roofies?” Octavia teases you, and you’re too happy to do more than stick out your tongue at her. Your plans for Spring Break are set, you only have an essay to hand in and a presentation to give, and the whole weekend to worry about both of those things -things are coming together and it feels pretty great.

“I don’t even know if I’m getting an A yet, but I think it went great.” You put down your tray, on the cafeteria table. “Rae, how did you do?” You know she’s been stressing as much as you about one of her projects.

“We finished our work and it came out as close to perfect as it could have,” she says, shrugging, and you immediately realize there’s more to it than that. So does Octavia.

“So why aren’t you walking on sunshine like Clarke over here?” O asks.

“I slept with my group partner,” Raven says simply, and you put your soda down.

“And?” you ask.

“And...nothing. We slept together. It was fine.” Raven unwraps her burrito and takes a bite out of it, effectively changing subjects. You’ve been friends long enough to know not to push, you know she’ll talk about it more when she’s ready.

“Okay,” Octavia says, and works on her food. “Bellamy and I were figuring out which cars to take for Spring Break. His truck and Jasper’s jeep aren’t gonna cut it.”

Raven jumps in the conversation at once, and you use the time to take out your cellphone and send Lexa a quick text.

 

 **12:36 pm  
** **Clarke Griffin  
** I just handed in my final art assignment!

 

You hardly think about it all before you hit send, and it’s the first time you’ve messaged her with something not related to your work together -barring those Christmas wishes from so long ago.

 

 **12:36 pm  
** **Lexa Woods  
** How did it go?

 

 **12:36 pm  
** **Clarke Griffin  
** I think it went great

 

You itch to write ‘all thanks to you’, but chicken out of it at the last moment. You don’t know how she’ll feel about you handing in her portrait. You’re not even sure you want her to see the finished piece.

 

 **12:37 pm  
** **Lexa Woods  
** Congratulations.

 

“Clarke? Can you get your dad’s car?”

“Huh?”

“Your dad’s car,” Octavia repeats.

“Oh, yeah, okay.” you answer quickly. “I’ll ask him about it.”

 

 **12:37 pm  
** **Clarke Griffin  
** Hey, can we get together to plan our presentation? I’m free the rest of the day

 

 **12:37 pm  
** **Clarke Griffin  
** Now that we have more time it feels like a crime to wing it yk?

 

 **12:37 pm  
** **Clarke Griffin  
** Are you free? Could you meet me in the library at 1?

 

You almost cringe at the amount of messages you send. You see her type, and then stop, and then start typing again. It takes incredibly long for the sole word that she ends up sending.

 

 **12:39 pm  
** **Lexa Woods  
** Okay

.

The library is louder than usual when you walk in. People crowd every table, their combined hushed whispers a constant buzzing noise that you know the guy in charge won’t try to appease because it’s mid-terms and it wouldn’t work anyways.

You hold two cups of coffee in your hands as you scan the large space looking for a familiar face. Lexa sits on a couch at the back, more removed from the rest of the room, it’s not your usual spot but everything else is taken. You can only see the back of her head, but you know it’s her -if only for the wavy brown hair and the delicate yet strong line of her shoulders.

“Hey, Lexa,” you say, once you’re close enough. “I brought coffee.” You set it down on the low table in front of you, but she doesn’t answer.

She squeezes a ring in her hand, the memento mori you asked about weeks ago, the night she left running. The tips of her fingers are going white with pressure. She doesn’t seem to have noticed you at all.

“Lexa?” She jumps at the sound of your voice. “Hey, are you okay?” You sit down next to her, laying a gentle hand on her knee.

“I’m fine,” she says quickly, but her voice is hoarse -she looks at anywhere but you.

“Hey.” You wait until she looks up at you. Her eyes are swimming with tears and it breaks you. “You can talk to me,” you offer softly.

If this was a month ago, you’d expect a fast, vicious ‘no’. But it isn’t, and Lexa looks torn. She looks down at her lap, biting her lip. She stares at the ring in her palm, the edges dull and you wonder if it’s because she’s held it so much. You still have your hand on her knee, and her eyes rest on it now, but she makes no move to push it off her -she’s not pushing you away.

“Her name was Costia,” she says slowly, and pain coats her voice, her expression, Lexa wears it like a second skin. And you don’t have to ask to know who she’s talking about.

“Was?” You ask, more to encourage her than anything. Lexa takes in a staggering breath, and your chest aches.

“She died in a car accident two years ago.” The words leave her like a dam she’s allowed to open and now can’t close.

“Oh, _Lexa._ ” She looks up at you and her eyes, those mesmerizing green green eyes, are shining even worse than before, overflowing. She tries to take measured deep breaths but you can see her mouth pull up and the sheer agony on her face spurs you into action. You hug her.

“I’m sorry.” You wrap your arms tight around her still form, your position awkward as you sit side by side on the couch. “I’m so sorry.” You cup her head in your hand and bring her closer and that’s what finally makes her stop being so stiff. You feel the exact moment when she sinks into you, gingerly bringing her arms around you.

“I’m sorry.” You know the words are meaningless. You heard them so many times after Wells’ accident, you offered them to his father as you both paid your respects and accepted the blame for what you believed was your fault. You know they don’t fix anything, and only hope that your arms can bring some sort of comfort, even a fraction of solace -you’ve never met anyone who deserved it more than the girl in your arms. You run your hand down her back reassuringly, letting her fit more firmly against you -your knees knocking, you’re chest to chest.

You know the words are meaningless so you offer her a small piece of yourself in return for her trust.

“I know how hard it is to lose someone,” you say, voice rough and you don’t normally volunteer the information. You miss Wells, even now; when you can go days without remembering and when you do the absence hits you all over again. You never say it out loud but Lexa -you can’t fathom her feeling alone, so you do.

She pulls away from you gingerly, her eyes wide and so very vulnerable...You forget you’re in the middle of a library, nothing around you matters but this confrontation of a girl, the war-paint chipping off.

“Who did you lose?” she asks.

“My best friend,” you say, and your voice breaks on the last word. It still hurts. You’re not sure that ever stops. “His name was Wells,” you tell Lexa. ”We grew up together. The last week of our sophomore year a drunk driver ran him off the road.”

He was on his way to pick you and Octavia up. It was raining, and he’d been the first to get his license out of all of you, so of course you asked him to come. Of course Raven got in the car with him. You can feel the tears running down your cheeks and you wipe them off.

“I’m sorry,” Lexa says, and her hand trembles in her lap as if she was thinking of touching you, of bridging that gap -but she doesn’t. “I’m really sorry about your friend.”

“I’m not just crying for him _.”_

You run your thumb over her cheek, catching the tear there before it’s done falling. She’s so kind, so beautiful and _good._ And you’re more alike than you ever thought. The haunted green eyes looking back at you are like a long lost memory; that kind of guilt you recognize.

She looks down and you pull your hand away, everything seemingly going back to normal -but your chest doesn’t stop aching.

.

You find the perfect topic for your history group project at 3 am on a saturday when all you can think about is beautiful things falling apart.

.

“The library of Alexandria?” Lexa asks when you push your laptop in front of her. “I mean...It’s a good topic but what will our classmates think? That I’m that self involved?” You laugh.

There’s something different about your interactions now, like you overcame some barrier the other day at the library. She’s much more...open with you know. The words flow easily and she even teases you.

“I’ll tell them I picked it,” you say. “It’s an amazing topic Lexa. It was once the largest library in the world, until they burned it. Most of the knowledge of the first thousand years of western civilization, missing, just like that. This Battles guy called it not a loss of books but a loss of a world. Can you imagine that?"

“You really thought about this,” Lexa says, and she sounds impressed. You try not to feel so proud of yourself.

“Mmm.” You sing-song, nodding. “That you happen to share a name is just a cute bonus,” you tell her, bumping her shoulder with yours. She smiles slightly.  

You don’t talk about Costia or Wells again, you don’t have to. The understanding is still there.

.

You don’t think you’ve ever been in love.

Or, you like to think you haven’t because it shouldn’t feel so...fickle.

There was a boy named Matt in 6th grade and you had a crush on him. He was your first kiss, but your 12-year-old selves never did make it work.

And then Amanda in 8th grade, a transfer student. You were friends for a rather short time but it only took that long for you to feel butterflies in your stomach every time she smiled at you or pronounced your name with her sweet, lilting accent. You never were anything, but it made you realize you could no longer ignore the way you looked at female celebrities or the curiosity you felt for other girls. It made you accept that it wasn’t just admiration because Amanda was real, and she was your classmate, and you wanted to kiss her more than you ever did Matt in 6th grade.

You worried for weeks about it, becoming quiet and withdrawn, because once you accepted it it became this _thing_  that your friends didn’t know about and your parents didn’t know about.  And then one day your dad sat you down and asked you what was wrong.

“Did something happen at school?” He asked gently, sitting next to you on the couch. “Clarke? You can tell me anything. You know that, right bug?”

You’re parents were always the accepting kind; you’d never heard a single close-minded thing regarding sexuality or race in your house. They voted Obama, both times. So you didn’t know why you were so afraid of saying it, why it felt like this red hot thing stirring in your chest and choking you up.

“Clarke, your mom and I are worried.” He was so honest, trying to get you to look at him.

“I like Amanda,” you said quietly, staring at the floor. It felt equally like a weight lifted off your shoulders and a bomb about to go off.

“And she’s leaving soon, is that it?” Your dad asked, and you shook your head. It only took him a second to catch your meaning. “ _Oh_. You like her as in…”

You nodded before you burst out crying. You didn’t know _why_ you were crying, but your dad scooped you up like you were still a little girl and sat you down on his lap.

“It’s okay, it’s fine.” He hugged you tight, and you think maybe you were crying because you were so relieved -it felt like catharsis. “Your mom and I love you you no matter what. You know that. There’s nothing wrong. Why are you crying, baby?”

“I don’t know,” you said, laughing. You pulled away and wiped your cheeks with the palms of your hands. Your dad looked worried more than anything. “Will mom…”

“Your mom and I are proud of you, whoever you like,” he said firmly. “It doesn’t matter. Did we...did we ever do something that made you feel like you couldn’t trust us-”

“No. No, dad.” You shook your head and hugged him again. “I love you,” you said against his shoulder, and his arms tightened against you.

“I love you too, pumpkin,” he said. “Is this what had you so down the past few days? Did something else happen? Did someone at school say something?”

You were fourteen years old and so damn lucky. You shook your head and smiled. And then the sound of your mom’s car came from the driveway and the smile slipped your face, the ball of nervousness that lived in your throat a few minute ago back in full force. Your dad noticed right away, and wiped the remaining moisture from beneath your eyes.

“Do you want me to to be the one to tell mom?” he asked, and you nodded. You heard her keys in the door and you got up and hurried upstairs to your room. You and your mom clashed sometimes, and your dad had to play referee between the two of you more often than not. It was one thing telling your dad, but your mom...You laid down in your bed for what felt like hours, but were only really fifteen minutes. Then you heard the footsteps up the stairs and stopping outside your door.

“I don’t know, Abby. Maybe we should make her rainbow pancakes,” your dad said, and you smiled.

“Because we all remember the cupcake you bought her the first time she got her period,” your mom mentioned, playing along, and your smile only grew.

“Red velvet. It was fitting!”

“I can hear you guys, stop!” you said. You opened the door and sat down on your bed. Your dad walked in, sitting next to you. Your mom stood on the door, and you were nervous to look up at her and see disappointment on her face -like you sometimes were.

“Your dad told me,” she said gently.

“Is it okay?” you asked, your hands squeezing your bed sheet.

“Of course, Clarke,” she said, and you just _-breathed easy_. “We love you, no matter what. So...are you gay? Or do you not like labels-”

“No, I like boys too,” you said, and you were just thankful for your family. "I...I'm bi."

“Oh, okay,” your mom said. You got up and hugged her tight -which was uncommon for you those days. You were fourteen and rebelling and your mom often took the brunt of it, but in you never meant a hug more than in that moment.

“You’re the best thing we’ve ever done,” she told you, and from your mom -your successful surgeon of a mom, who everyone expected you follow in her footsteps- that meant a lot.

“Is that a yes on the rainbow pancakes?” Your dad asked when you pulled apart.

“Dad!” You laughed, and so did they, and though you never actually got to kiss Amanda -who was painfully straight and obsessed with One Direction- it was a meaningful non-relationship nonetheless.

There was Brian, and he was your first. You dated for a few months back in 10th grade, before Wells’ accident. They were friends. You liked him for his smile and his dark hair, and the fact that his jokes made you laugh. Your stomach fluttered pleasantly whenever he looked at you and the places between your thighs ached with want.

You were sixteen when you had sex the first time, and it was good -as good as it could possibly be. You made him make you come before he ever took his underwear off, and afterwards, when he laid asleep next to you, you’d called Octavia and Raven and told them all about it.

It was fun. Not just the sex -though that got better each time- but your relationship. It was purely based on jokes and hanging out at school and when he made the football team you wore his jacket like in every teenage sitcom. And then the accident happened, and he tried to be there for you but all you wanted was to be with your friends and your boyfriend started to feel more like a burden than anything. You broke up with him and it didn’t hurt.

You went on a few dates the year afterward, but no one really stuck until Mia your senior year. You dated for a few months too, and the sex was great -but you both knew that it wouldn’t last after high school. You had fun and you really cared about her, but a few weeks before graduation you broke things off and remained friends, and then she went to MIT and you came here.

You’ve never been in love, _truly_ in love. You’ve felt the butterflies and the nervousness and the lust, but it’s never been a be all end all.

So you don’t know how it feels to lose someone you’re in love with.

You think of your parents, how whenever they talk to you they answer as a team, always ‘your mom and I’, always ‘we’. You can’t fathom them losing each other.

And you’re thinking all this because Lexa loved her ex-girlfriend, you can see that, and you can't imagine what it must have been like to lose her so violently all of a sudden. You remember every time you asked her what was wrong with her, being the petty bitch that you could become, and you regret it deeply, because you don’t know how much she must have hurt. How much she’s still hurting.

It aches when you think about her crying, and it’s more than anything you’ve felt before.

.

You study your asses off the day before your History presentation.

You discover Lexa has an obsession with icebreakers, and you straight up watch her eat an entire container of the white, pink dotted candies while you study. She offers you some every once in awhile, and you decline but for the one. Watching them pop one after the other proves much more interesting.

The semester draws to a close, and you’re finally going with it. Your biggest concern was art, and you’re pretty sure you’ve got an A there, if your professor publicly telling you ‘good job’ is anything to go by. Maybe a low A, because he’s still a perfectionist hard-ass, but an A none the less. _Fuck yes_.  

Now all that’s left is your history presentation tomorrow and an essay you have to hand in on thursday, and you’re free. You’ve called your dad and you’ve set things up with Bellamy, and he’s driving you home on friday so you can pick up his car for your Spring Break trip. Things are coming together, and yet....

You watch Lexa pour over her notes, her jaw moving from side to side as she concentrates. It’s damn cute.

“What are you doing for spring break?” you ask, and it takes her a second to get out of her own head.

“I’m visiting my uncle,” she says, and the tiny smidge of hope you had deflates.

“Oh.”

“Why?” Lexa asks, putting down her cards on her bed. You sit up.

“My friends and I are doing a mini road trip. We’re going to Assateague island because O has a thing for horses, and then we’re going to Ocean City. We spent Raven’s 17th birthday there and we always wanted to come back,” you tell her. “I was going to ask if you might want to come with us.”

You’re nervous for her answer, even though she’s already said she has plans. Right until now you hadn’t realized how much you want Lexa to come, how incomplete it would feel if she was there with you all -and it scares you to think about.

“I…” She pushes her hair behind her ear and you get ready for the rejection.

“Or maybe even come for half the trip,“ you offer. “I could get you back here so you can visit your uncle.” You come up with it on your feet, and spending three extra hours in a car with Lexa doesn’t sound half bad. “Come on Lexa, it’ll be fun.”

“You’d miss part of your trip to bring me back here?” she asked quietly, and suddenly the room, your old, incredibly familiar dorm room feels a lot smaller.

“I really want you to come,” you say, and it’s nothing but the truth.

“Who’s going?” she asks, and you try not to smile. You’re wearing her down.

“Raven and Octavia, her brother Bellamy.”

“Our TA.” She nods.

“Lincoln, who you know. Monty, you’ve met him, his boyfriend Miller -at least we’re pretty sure they’re dating but they won’t make it official yet. My other friend Jasper. Bellamy is bringing two of his frat brothers and some guy from our class. I think that’s it.”

“Wow. That’s...a lot of people.”

You know Lexa is not one to go big, but you also know she had fun with you and your friends the other day, and you haven’t forgotten when you invited her to Bellamy’s party last year.

“Come on Lex,” you say, and the nickname surprises you, slips out of your mouth as easily as your breath. “There are wild horses on the beach. They’ll probably steal our food and ruin our tents, and we’ll get to watch Octavia try to ride one.”

She smiles at that, and something in your chest stutters. You look away, and catch sight of the familiar ring on her nightstand -it puts everything into sharp focus. She needs a friend, she doesn’t need _this_. (You, wanting her.) You can be a friend.

“So? What do you say?”

“Hey.” The voice comes from outside, and after a second fin walks through the door, dumping his backpack at the foot of his bed. “I couldn't help but listen. Sounds awesome. You guys planning a trip?”

You nod. “Assateague Island, for Spring Break.”

“Cool,” he says, grabbing a back from his closet.

“You want to come?” You feel Lexa stiffen up next to you, and you wish you hadn’t asked. But Finn is your friend, just like Lexa is. You’re all friends.

“I’ve got plans already, maybe next time,” Finn says. “My friends and I are hitting Ocean City.”

“Us too,” you tell him. “Afterwards.”

“Awesome, maybe we can all meet up,” he offers.

“That’d be cool, yeah,” you tell him. He shoulders his bag and heads to the door.

“Well, I’ll see you.” He waves at you, and then nods at Lexa. “Woods.”

You turn to her once he’s gone.

“And you Lexa? The more the merrier.”

“I’ll think about it,” is what she gives you.

.

“What's got such a pep in your step?” Octavia asks when you walk into your room.

“What? Nothing,” you say. You kick off your boots and climb the stairs to your bed, plopping down on the mattress.  Raven gives you a look like she doesn't believe you at all.

“Try again,” she says, and you roll to the edge of your bed, you arm hanging from your bunk.

“I asked Lexa to come with us for Spring Break,” you say. Okay, so maybe you’re attracted to her. That doesn't mean you’ll act on it, that doesn't mean you want more than just being her friend. She needs a friend, and you can be that for her. You want to be that for her.

“And?” Raven pushes, but you have nothing else to say. You don’t want to think about it, much less talk.

“If you’re asking about Lexa then I'm asking about group partner,” you say.

“You know this doesn’t help your case at all, right? I slept with him. And you’re lumping Lexa and him in the same category…”

“You know what I mean,” you say, hiding your face against your mattress because your cheeks begin to feel warm.

“His name is Wick,” Raven says.

“Wick?” O asks, sitting up in her bed.

“Kyle Wick. He’s an asshole.” Raven enunciates the words, but it’s not the feeling you get from her expression. You and O look at each other and then just wait. “I’m just...I don’t want a boyfriend,” Raven says. “I don't want someone to hold my hand. We slept together and he got the wrong idea about it.”

“It’s been a while since you’ve trusted someone like that, Rae,” you say.

“Ally from the math club,” Octavia says, and Raven snorts. “Who would've known that girl had it in her.”  You laugh, remembering. Raven got caught in a janitor’s closet your senior year, literally with someone’s hand down her pants, and managed to sob-story her way out of trouble.

Raven looks pensive when your laughter dies down.

“I can’t...I just can’t depend on someone like that,” she says.

“It’s not about depending on someone,” Octavia says. “It’s about them knowing you can handle yourself but still being there to back you up no matter what.” Not for the first time, you are so happy Octavia has Lincoln.

“Not all of us have the luck of having a perfect boyfriend like Lincoln, O,” Raven tells her, kicking the bottom of her bed with her good leg.

“Damn right.”

.

Your history presentation doesn’t go all that well.

You play a youtube video to start it off and the damn site keeps automatically playing shit, interrupting Lexa in the middle of her speech. You stutter an “Um” for about half a minute after the professor asks you a question, and when Lexa tries to answer for you she gets called out on it.

Soon enough, it’s over.

Some of your classmates do better than you, but most do worse. You all honestly operated under the assumption that you could get away with putting in the minimum effort and still pass. (In 8 days, when you get the e-mail with your grade, you’ll be proven right. 92, still an A.)

“Well, that’s over,” you say, huffing as you walk out of the auditorium style classroom. You’re planning on locking yourself up until your essay is finished and then grabbing one of Raven’s tiny bottles of liquor to celebrate.

“Clarke?” Lexa asks tentatively when you leave, and you turn around, getting out of the way of the moving throng of people. You can hear the whoops of those for whom this was their last class and are already feeling their Spring Break.

“Yeah?”

“I’ll accompany you and your friends to the beach for this Spring Break, but I haven’t seen my uncle in a while so-” You don’t let her finish.

You throw your arms around her, and she laughs and hugs you back. She’s coming with you for at least half the trip. When you pull away she’s still smiling, and it’s warmer than all of spring beginning to blossoming outside.

You could really get used to this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clarke has a muse. We learn more about Lexa. A bit of Clarke's backstory where Abby and Jake are A+ parents. And Spring Break is coming!
> 
> I hope you liked this chapter. Your kudos and comments are much appreciated!


	14. spring break, part one

“Hey, pay attention -if one of you forgets something I’m not lending you my shit.” Octavia sits backwards on her desk’s chair,  cell phone in hand as she reads from it out loud. 

“Clothes.Shoes, boots.”

“Done,” you say. You’re wearing your favorite pair of beat-up sneakers for the trip there, but you  have a pair of black motorcycle boots on the bottom of your bag inside a plastic bag.

“Jeans, pants, belt- who actually wears a belt?” Octavia asks.

“I don’t know, O. People who need to hold their pants up?” you say. “Check.”

“Whatever. Shorts, T-shirts, socks-”

“Shit,” you say, and head over to your closet. 

“See? There we go,” O says, and you roll your eyes. You grab a pair of fluffy socks and then another one just in case.

“Sleep clothes, swim suit, laundry bag....”

"Yeah, right. Like we’ll actually do laundry,” Raven says, voice croaky and dry. She stretched in her bed, finally waking up. She’d packed late last night unlike the two of you, and could now afford to doze off while you worried about socks.

“Check,” you say.

“Cooking utensils… Nah, Bellamy’s handling that shit. ‘ _ Feminine’ _ products?” Octavia snorts. “Y’all got tampons?”

“Just in case, check,” Raven says. “But I swear to God if my uterus betrays me like that…”

“Condoms?” Octavia asks, putting down her cellphone. You’re pretty sure that wasn’t on that wholesome family list. 

“I think that one only applies to you, O,” Raven says.

“Not like I actually need them, because you guys know I’m on the pill. But it does keep things less messy.”

“Octavia,” Raven said, groaning. You know all about Octavia’s active sex life, she’s certainly not shy about it -while Lincoln is. You feel bad for him sometimes.

“You just reminded me we’re not doing laundry.” She shrugs. “ Plus, I don’t know what Clarke might need, a dental dam?”

“Jesus, O!” You cheeks feel warm, and you inevitably know you’re blushing. Even the tips of your ears tingle.

“Hey, you’re the one who invited Lexa,” Octavia says.

“Because she’s my friend!”

“And just handed over your dad’s keys -to me of all people- because you’re ‘riding with Lexa’.”

“First, don’t make a riding joke, it would be too easy,” you tell her. “Second, you just dragged yourself. Third, I invited her. It would be rude to make her drive by herself.” It’s only polite, it’s a three hour drive. And besides, you’ll all be more comfortable. Raven will have the entire backseat to stretch out her leg.  Octavia looks like she doesn’t believe you at all, and to be honest it doesn’t matter -you believe yourself.

“O, leave her be,” Raven says, sitting up in her bed.

“And this is why you’re my favorite,” you tell her gratefully, but her expression carries just a hint of worry and teasing that you don’t know how to feel about.

.:.

Campus is nearly deserted when you walk outside. It usually is quieter on Sundays, but the Sunday before Spring Break? It’s a ghost town. Mostly because by the time you make it to the parking lot it’s already 11 am, and most people with better sense of timing have left already. A few classmates of yours are loading up cars nearby, but it doesn’t take you long to find your friends. To find Lexa.

Octavia runs away from your group to hug Lincoln, and you carry your bags to your dad’s car. Lexa’s parked beside you, sitting at the wheel of a black 4x4. She gets out when she sees you, and it all -halts.

She’s wearing cut off high-waisted shorts, and you’ve never seen her with so much exposed skin. Your mouth goes dry.

“Lexa,” your voice is a husky mutter and Raven slaps you on the back before she grab the keys from your hand and opens the car.

“Hey, good morning,” she says.

“Good morning yourself,” you tell her, and then -because you can’t stop yourself, “you look great.” she looks to the floor.

“Thank you. So do you.”

You might look mildly put together even without makeup but you don’t have that effortless beauty Lexa has, it’s in the way her presence commands attention and those eyes-

“Hey, Lexa! Is there room in your car?” Raven asks, and it shakes you out of it.

“Yeah, sure.”

“Yo, Monty! You can put the stove in Lexa’s car.” 

You help out your friends with loading up your stuff, all the while thinking that spending three hours in a car with Lexa maybe wasn’t the best idea.

.:.

Your friends and you lose each other on the highway the entire drive. Miller leaves first, Monty and Jasper on board. His parents vacation at Ocean City every year, so he knows a few shortcuts, and Bellamy didn’t want to rely on your car’s navigation system too much regardless if that’s exactly what it was there for.

Lexa follows after the blue SUV, and Lincoln follows you both in your dad’s truck. You make faces at Octavia, and Lexa laughs. You can barely see Bellamy’s red truck as he, in turn, follows them. 

It takes you 30 minutes to propose a road trip game, and Lexa scrunches her nose. You go ahead anyways. The fact it takes you a bit of time to figure out what to pick notwithstanding.

“I spy...with my little eye...something...blue.”

“Your eyes,” Lexa says at once, like she didn’t mean to, and when you look at her her cheeks are colored pink. It makes your chest warm in the chill of the car.

“Nope,” you tell her, letting your lips smack out the ‘p’. You don’t point out the fault in her logic, because the mere thought that she might look at your eyes the way you look at hers is enough to send your mind into a tailspin.

“My shorts,” Lexa offers.

“No.”

“Your friend’s SUV.”

“That was too easy,” you tell her. “Your turn.“

She sighs, but she doesn’t seem bothered in the least.

“I spy something…”

“Wait, what are you spying with?” you tease her. Lexa rolls her eyes.

“I spy…” She looks at you from the corner of her eye and chuckles. “With my little eye…” You smile, letting your tongue peek out between your teeth. “Something pink.”

“My sneakers,” you say.

“Your sneakers are red,” she replies.

“A passing car.”

“No.”

It takes you a while to figure out it’s the flier on the car’s top compartment. A few turns later neither of you is feeling the game anymore, and Lexa turns on the car radio and syncs up her phone, letting the music fill the space.

It’s not uncomfortable, the lack of conversation. And her music is almost as good as her driving.

Lexa drives elegantly, like she does everything else. Her hands seem terribly delicate, long fingers grasping the steering wheel as she makes turns. She sits ramrod straight in her seat though, and you think that can’t be comfortable.

“Hey, if you get tired I can drive,” you offer. “Unless you're iffy about someone driving your uncle’s car, because I get that,” you add as an afterthought. You know enough to figure out her parents are strict -maybe her entire family.

“No. I trust you, Clarke,” she says, and it feels a lot heavier when you think of the past few days and how she’s let you see her with tears in her eyes. “I’ll let you know, okay?”

You nod, and settle back on your seat.

Her music taste is...something. It’s the kind of music you’d listen to while you paint, to get in a particular sort of mood. It’s not what you’d listen to while you drive or even more than once.  The current song echoes, soft and so layered it reminds you of Lexa herself, makes you feel like closing your eyes so you do.

.:.

A bump in the road wakes you up.

You open your eyes slowly, remembering where you are. A soft, airy melody comes from the seat next to you.

“ In the big rock candy mountains, there's a land that's fair and bright…” Lexa sings under her breath, her eyes on the road and the same posture as when you fell asleep. “Where the handouts grow on bushes and you sleep out every night…”

You move and  the stiffness in your neck makes you groan.

“You’re awake,” Lexa says, caught off guard.

“Keep going, you have a nice voice,” you tell her, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes.

“Your cellphone buzzed 5 minutes ago,” Lexa tells you instead of answering. You sit up straight and grab it, checking your messages.

“Monty says we’re stopping for gas.”

Lexa takes the next exit onto a gas station, a 7 eleven behind it. You check the dashboard and find it’s already 2’o clock. You slept for a solid forty minutes -you only hope you didn’t drool and Lexa saw- and you haven’t had anything to eat since you left your dorm this morning. Your stomach is starting to ache with it.

“Hey,  I’m going to the store,” you tell Lexa. “Do you want anything?”

“No, it’s fine.”

“Okay.” You quickly pull out a twenty from your wallet and hand it to Lexa. “For the gas.”

“No, I-” You push it on her hand and she grabs it on reflex. 

“Whoops, would you look at that?”

“Not very mature, Clarke,” she says, and it reminds so very much of how she used to berate for anything and everything back when you were roommates. Except she doesn’t look bothered now. Things are better.

You get out of the car while she takes care of the gas, and walk inside the shop. You grab a bag of Lays and some nachos, and find Bellamy on the beer aisle. His eyes are, though, on the guy eyeing the magazine at the front of the store. You recognize him as Murphy, from your history class. He’s hung out with you once before, but you were too focused on Lexa to get to know the new people. 

“You’re our TA, is that legal?” you tease Bellamy, and he very pointedly looks away and goes back to finding decent alcohol.

“Wasn’t Lexa your roommate last year?” he retorts, and you jump a little because everyone seems to  _ know  _ when you haven’t even fully accepted it yourself.

“Touché,” you say. “Not enough booze?”

“Never,” Bellamy answers.

“I’m buying actual food,” you tell him, shaking the potato chips bag in your hand.

“You’re calling  _ that _ actual food?” 

“At least you can chew it, Mr.Liquid Dinner.” 

You grab another bag of chips and two bottles of coke before paying. And then, when your eyes trail over some candy on the counter, you grab that too. Lexa is waiting for you parked in front of the store. Octavia is filling up the tank of your dad’s car, and Bellamy’s frat brothers sit on the back of his truck, eating chips. So you’re not the only one, then. 

You get in the car and Lexa puts her cell phone down when you enter. You grab something from your bag and hand it to her before she can get a word in.

“Icebreakers,” she says, smiling, and it pushes you just a bit closer to that edge you’re trying not to think about. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. Maybe I’m buttering you up so you’ll let me snack on your leather seats.”

“I don’t mind,” she says.

Bellamy knocks on Lexa’s door, and it startles you both. 

“30 more miles until Sussex County, and then follow Miller,” he tells you.

“Or…we could use the navigation system,” you say, shrugging.

He ignores you. “Lexa.” He nods to her. 

“I think my friend like you better than me,” you tell her, and she laughs, light and free.

.:.

It’s another hour before you have a change of scenery, passing a road sign that says ‘Maryland welcomes you’. 

“About time,” you tell Lexa, offering her the bags of chips again. She’s been eating like a little bird since you left the gas station, a bite here and there, her eyes never leaving the road.

Your phone buzzes and you open a text to find Octavia -who took over the wheel of your dad’s car and is now way ahead of you- texted you a photo of another sign. “Maryland welcomes you, please drive gently and be safe,” feat that perverted moon emoji. You shake your head. At least you’re almost there.

You left campus at 12, and by the time you get to Assateague it's already 3:45. The afternoon is getting chillier, and you know there’s no time to do much more than set up your tents and eat tonight.

“I’m starving,” you say, once Lexa has parked behind Bellamy in the camp site parking lots (after what was possibly the most boring twenty minutes of your life while you paid your entrance fee).

You’re not the first one with that idea, since everyone is already going through the food stash. You pass around the bags of nachos and the big jar of cheese until it’s gone, and you think you can survive long enough to get your tents set up and make a fire.

Octavia, riding on Lincoln’s back, heads down to the beach to find a good spot, while you all start pulling bags out of the cars.

“Who’s sleeping where?” Octavia asks a little while later, once you’re pulling out tubes and tarp out of the tent's bag.

“My mom used to say ‘boys and girls in separate tents’,” Raven says, sitting down to give her leg some rest. 

“That’s pretty pointless, my brother would only end up cuddling with frog boy,” she says. And then gets this mischievous look on her face when she notices you and notices Lexa figuring out how to assemble her tent. “Not to mention-”  You widen your eyes at her, begging with your expression:  _ don’t make a joke about me and lexa, please, please. _

Octavia clicks her tongue. “Lincoln and I are the only couple here that rule screws over,” she says finally.

“Oddly enough you’re the only one here with a broken sense of propriety, too,” Raven points out from her place on the floor. “And it’s not poor Lincoln’s fault.”

“My tent is pretty big,” Lexa offers, and it’s probably the first time you’ve seen her start conversation with any of your friends. You nod. 

Thirty minutes and a hell of a lot teamwork later, you realize ‘pretty big' was an understatement.

“Are you rich by any chance?” Octavia asks Lexa. The dark brown tent is huge and solid, two large rooms separate by a black film. It’s three times as big as the one you brought, and twice as tall. 

“My uncles really liked camping,” she explains.

“Thank your uncles for me,” Octavia says, shouldering her backpack.

“O,” you pull her back.

“It’s all right, I brought it for a reason,” Lexa says. You follow after her when she unzips the door, and you can actually, thank god, walk inside instead of crawl on your knees.

“This is huge,” you say. It actually reminds you of Harry Potter, and that’s saying something.

“The front is supposed to be a  porch but someone can sleep there.”

“Lincoln and I don’t take up much space,” Octavia mentions, “we can sleep stacked up.”

“I don’t want to impose,” you tell Lexa.

“It’s great! It’s fine. I mean, you said it, it’s...big.”

“Okay.”

You decide to build your old tent anyways to keep it as storage, so you won’t have to make the walk to the cars every time you need something. Monty and Miller have a small tent set up while Jasper drags his sleeping bag inside your old tent, muttering about friendship lost and displaced. 

The second largest tent belongs to Bellamy, and he shares it with Murphy and his two frat brothers. By the time you have all of your things set up the sun is going down and Bellamy and Raven have a nice fire going on.  You sit next to Lexa while Bellamy’s chili gets reheated in a pot, and you pass around packets of crackers. Bottles of beer and soda make the rounds not long after that. As far as dinners go, it’s not too shabby. 

The conversation is deep in birthplaces and Lexa is two beers in when she speaks up. “My dad was born in Virginia. Named me after the damn place, too.”

“Alexandria, is it?” Monty asks. “Defender of mankind.”

“Well, we know who to call if a raccoon steals our food,” Bellamy says, and you all laugh. Lexa smiles brightly at him, at it almost makes you jealous, because you want to be the one making her laugh. But you’re happy she’s happy, that she fits in so well with your friends. You can feel it like a tide carrying you, the way you look at her and your stomach flutters, and you let it.

“Or when Octavia inevitably attracts horses to our camp,” Raven pipes up.

“Did you see that black one?” Octavia asks, and the conversation veers off into the horses walking far away in the distance, and O’s failed attempts to get close.

Lexa’s not really participating, merely listening, but you know she’s as immersed as the rest of you because her mouth twitches with a smile everytime raven cracks a joke. She seems...happy. And it’s equally as surprising as it is so damn beautiful a sight.

After a while and another round of beers your friends split off into groups. Lincoln and Octavia take a walk down the beach while Raven and Monty speak of something you don’t even begin to understand. Bellamy’s friends are wasted and sleeping in the sand already, and Bellamy and Murphy are nowhere to be seen.

Lexa pulls her jacket closer to herself as she stares at the fire, and you get up and grab two wine coolers for you both.

“Trying to get me drunk?” She asks when you hand her one, sitting next to her on the blanket spread over the sand.

“I think you already are.”

She raises up her arm and shows you a minuscule space between to finger, lips pursed. You laugh. You’re comfortably tipsy yourself, loose and buzzing. You sit down and then don’t really feel that dizziness.

You open your bottle and then grab Lexa’s, opening it for her. You take a swig of the bright red liquid, the sharp sweetness of it a contrast to the bitter beer Bellamy likes. You look at Lexa next to you, her hair a wild mess from the wind blowing in from the sea. You wonder if it smells like the ocean. You wonder what she’s thinking, what’s going on in that head of hers.

“What?” she asks, pushing her hair behind her ear. You don’t look away from her. 

“Who’s your favorite person?” You ask.

“Favorite person?”

“Yeah.” You want to know more about her, more happy things. Because you know she’s sad, so very sad, and you know why -that sadness has a name. And apart from icebreakers and disney movies and your friends teasing her, you’re lost on things that make her smile. Doesn’t she have happy stories?

“My uncle Gus,” Lexa says softly. “He’s my father’s brother,” she explains. She takes a drink from the bottle in her hand, furrowing her brow at the taste. “Only living relative he has left and they don’t speak,” she adds bitterly.

You nod.

“You said your cousin Luna’s father passed away.” You remember everything she’s said, and it all helps you paint a picture of who she is.

“Yeah. Heart attack. My father couldn’t be bothered to keep going back to Mexico to visit Luna or my aunt.” She takes a long swig from the annoyingly sweet drink, and you mimic her. “And his sister, Anya’s mother. Cancer, about 7 years ago now.” A mocking smile appears on her lips.”I’ve got killer genes.”

“Yeah, you do.” It slips out, and you take a drink to cover it up because it’s so fucking inappropriate.  Thankfully Lexa doesn’t seem to hear you.

“He never liked Anya’s dad,” she tells you, and you’ve yet to meet Anya, but you can hear how much Lexa cares about her just from hearing her say her name. “I mean, he  _ was _ kind of an asshole, but it was more, you know? My dad’s a racist fuck. Homophobic;” she spits out. She’s mad, you can see it swirling in her eyes like a storm. “You name it, he’s got it.” 

“He’s voting for Trump isn’t he?” you ask, trying to diffuse the tension. Lexa nods, a small sardonic smile back in place.

“We haven’t spoken in months,” she confesses. “We’re not close -not anymore.” Her voice gets rough at the end, and you sit closer to her, offering your support, your shoulder, anything she might want from you. Her body is warm against your right side, your arms pressed together.

“They got divorced because of me,” Lexa tells you, meeting your eyes for the first time in a while. They’re full of pain, like that afternoon at the library, when she told you about Costia. And now, like then, your chest aches and aches. “My mom was okay with me, I guess, after a while. My father was googling conversion therapy.”

“Fuck.” It’s the only thing you _ can  _ say.

“They called it quits. My mom wasn’t happy with me but she backed me, you know? Even against her husband. She doesn’t have any siblings but her cousins were pissed.” Lexa shrugs.

“My dad is usually the one defending me to my mom,” you tell her, desperate to remove that look from her eyes. “I changed majors and my mom was livid. But my dad brought her around. Me and my mom never seem to see eye to eye.”

You don’t mean to sound like you’re comparing your situations, and you’re about to say so when Lexa offers you a smile, almost thankful.  There might be something to it, sharing parts of yourself with someone and have them react like you’re talking about the weather. The knowledge that you’re still the same person in their eyes.

“But you veered off track,” you tell her. “Tell me about Gus.”

“He’s ...tall.” She smiles, and it’s so full of affection she’s breathtaking. “Long hair and beard. He gives a new definition to bear hugs.”

“He’s the man I saw you with that first day when you came back to school,” you say gently, more to yourself than to her. “I saw you outside the cafeteria that day,” you explain. The thing you remember the most is the way she looked, how you worried she was sick. “I didn’t want to meddle. I went to your dorm later but you weren't there. That’s how I met Finn.”

“Oh.” She purses her mouth. “Yes, uncle Gus drove me over. He’s amazing. He took  care of Anya after her mom passed away. Her dad took off when she was younger and she was alone.” And then, her voice dropping lower. “He took care of me after Costia.” She stares at the sand, the bottle hanging loosely from her hands. She looks up at you. “I stayed with him and Anya after the holidays.”

“ Lexa...What happened during break? You took a whole week to come back, I thought…I thought you weren’t coming back at all.” You still remember her ignoring your texts, and the first week of the semester, where every brown haired girl you looked at from the corner of your eye seemed to be Lexa, and yet when you turned she was never there. “And you got snappy at me when I asked.” 

Snappy was an understatement. She’d told you to leave her alone and ran away from you, and you’d been so angry you could hardly think straight. She won you back with apologies and coffee, and the quiet trust she placed in you when she told you her holidays weren’t very pleasant, and still...you don’t  _ know _ .

Lexa drains the rest of the bottle before she speaks, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. 

“My father had this new year's eve party at his house. He introduced me to the son of one of his co-workers.”

Your stomach clenches, and suddenly you don’t want to know.

“Come midnight, he tried to kiss me.” Lexa shrugs. “I slapped him.” A sad little smile twists her lips. “My father came out and sent him back inside the house and he yelled at me. He asked why would I do this to him. Why wouldn’t I just be normal.”

“That guy, he didn’t…he didn’t try something else?” It makes you feel sick to your stomach to think about but you have to ask. 

“No.”

“You promise?” You ask again.

“Yeah,” Lexa tells you, meeting your eyes. You can tell she’s being honest and you breathe easier. “I overreacted. He wasn’t even pushy about it I just-“ She shrugs. “I’m sure my dad gave him the wrong idea.”

It comes hot and angry, the desire to hurt a man you’ve never even met.

“I went to stay with my uncle after that,” Lexa tells you, none the wiser about how you’re fantasizing of pushing her stupid dad into oncoming traffic. “I was just so tired. I couldn’t deal with school.” She sounds tired now, too, but not sad, not like there’s a black cloud hanging over her head. You promise yourself you’ll try to keep it that way if you can help it, because no one deserves to be happy more than this girl. 

“ I’m glad you had him,” you tell her softly. You’re just _  fond _ of Lexa. She deserves the world. She gifts you with a small smile and you  cover her hand in the sand with your own.

“Thank you,” you tell her, squeezing her fingers. “For choosing to come here.”  _ For trusting me. _

“You’re one of my favorite people too, Clarke.” she says, in way of an answer, a loopy smile on her lips that you won’t entirely blame on booze. It makes your heart beat so loud you can feel it, it makes warmth spread across your cheeks.

It might be the alcohol or the chill of the night, or the way the flames from the fire make shadows dance on her face, her green eyes looking so very dark, but you want her. She’s your friend. She’s your friend, but she’s so fucking gorgeous. She’s so strong and beautiful you wish -you wish you could just sit closer to her, could kiss away the frown she gets sometimes. You’re dizzy with the realization, or maybe with the way you just decide to stop ignoring how you feel, to stop pushing it away. You’re dizzy with the way your fingers itch to touch her face.

She’s soft and sweet and you want nothing more than to capture this image and live in it, the pink of her cheeks and the shyness of her smile as she looks away from you to the sand and then the ocean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clarke has feelings for Lexa. Clarke knows she has feelings for Lexa. What's next?
> 
> Drop me a comment, I love to hear what you think!


	15. spring break, part two

_“ She was beautiful, but she was beautiful in the way a forest fire was beautiful: something to be admired from a distance, not up close.”  
-Good Omens _

.:.

  
You carefully step over Lincoln and Octavia’s sleeping form as you make your way out of the tent. Raven is still asleep inside, but for the first time in your life you don’t feel like staying in bed -or your sleeping bag, as the case might be. You feel more awake than you have in months.

You pull the fleece blanket closer around your shoulders. The smell of rain lingers in the air, and the monday morning is chilly with it, fresh and new. A line of pale orange rests just over the horizon. The sky's still blue-grey, and most of your friends are still asleep. When you woke up next to Raven only, you knew of at least one of them who wasn’t.

Miller works at starting a fire, a similar blanket wrapped around his shoulders. Monty sits nearby, drinking from a cup, and the steam floating away lets you know it’s something hot. And just over a dune, her back to the camp, sits Lexa. You make your way there, the sand cold under your bare feet.

“Hey,” you say softly, not wishing to startle her. She looks up at you, and you might become a morning person if this was what was waiting for you.

“Hi.”

You sit down next to her on the blanket she’s spread out, keeping you from the cold, damp sand underneath.  You’re quiet, the only sound your friends messing with coals behind you and the breeze blowing your messy hair on your face.

The sky lights up with warmth then, a single focal point of golden yellow above the bluest of waves, everything around orange and pink. You wish you’d brought your cellphone outside with you so you could snap a photo. You wish you’d brought some dry pastels and you could paint it, put down that warmth on paper along with Lexa’s expression when she looks at it.

“This is beautiful,” you say. She nods. The sun comes out slowly over the edge of the waves, it hurts your eyes to look at it for too long.

.:.

With the sun higher in the sky, people finally start coming out of their tents. Bellamy and Miller put together Miller’s camping stove, and go to town frying ridiculous amounts of eggs. Not ten minutes later a few of the horses you saw walking around the previous day come closer, one of them only a few feet away.

“They’re so close,” you tell Lexa. “I feel like I should go wake Octavia.” A black horse, white speckled across his coat, comes even closer. It's so close you can smell it, dusty and almost like a wet dog.

“Clarke, Lexa, watch out,” you hear Bellamy exclaim from behind you.

“Hi boy,” you tell the animal softly, extending your hand toward him. You don’t expect him to actually come closer, but he does, walking up to Lexa’s side. " _Shit_."

“Oh.” She nearly topples over you, her arm grasping for purchase in the sand at your side, her body almost across your lap. You laugh, and soon enough the horse makes its way to the eggs.

“No. Shoo. Shoo!” Bellamy sort of waves his hand at the horse, that you know realize is very old. You laugh even harder.

“Don’t be mean, he’s like a senior citizen.” Your cheeks hurt with how hard you're grinning. “You should call your sister.”

You become aware of how Lexa is still painfully close to you, her hair nearly covering half of your face. You can feel the warmth radiating from her body. She turns to you, smiling, and realizes just how close she really is. She scoots over to put some space between the two of you, her cheeks pink. You're sure yours look the same.

“I, uh... I’m getting Octavia,” you tell her, and she nods.

O ends up luring the old horse away with a piece of bread, the lot of you waiting with baited breath. You all heard the ‘leave the horses alone’ speech when you first arrived, how they were wild animals and would bite and kick anyone who disrespected them. It’s the main reason why Bellamy thrums with nervousness behind you, Murphy’s pointer finger entwined with his in what you guess is an effort to comfort him -though there’s no doing that with his sister baiting a wild horse regardless of how old. Lincoln is far more relaxed as his eyes follow O, he knows -just like you and Raven- that there’s not much in this world that can take Octavia down.

“Let’s go, grandpa.” The animal follows her down near the ocean, where she finally drops the bread. She pats his back quickly before leaving him alone. You roll your eyes. Regardless of how forbidden and dangerous it was touching them-she did it.

You have scrambled eggs over bread and beef jerky for breakfast, orange juice and beer getting passed around in equal measure. (Your mother would have shaken her head.) The horses leave you alone while you eat, too, and O has the gall to be disappointed about it.

She had Lincoln announce they’re going kayaking, Raven heads down to the beach and Jasper follows, while Miller wants to go bird watching and Monty rolls his eyes and agrees. Everyone gears up to go their separate ways and then meet up for a dinner later in the afternoon. But when you turn to where you last saw Lexa to ask where you’re going -she’s nowhere to be seen.

You head back to her tent and find her putting stuff inside a small backpack.

“Hey,” you announce yourself. “Should we go to the beach? Or ...do you like to kayak? We could go with O.” You can’t help but internally groan at the thought of moving your arms so much, though, so you hope Lexa doesn’t say that’s what she wants to do.

You don’t know when you decided you’re spending your entire time here together, but while it is true you’re the one who invited her and it's only polite (and that’s what you would have convinced yourself was the only reason two days ago)...You can’t deny it to yourself any longer. You like her, you’re attracted to her, you want to spend as much time as you possibly can by her side. Especially since she’s leaving tomorrow. You have the rest of the week to spend with your friends, but your time with Lexa is limited, and that makes it all the more precious.

“I don't think you like kayaking,” she tells you.

“I’m...not  a fan,” you tell her. “But for you I’d manage it,” you add, and Lexa blushes and goes back to her bag. You don’t know when you decided to flirt with her, either, but... _fuck_ , you can’t help it. And the pink of her cheeks makes your heart race with the thought she might feel the same.

“I think I might go hiking” she says. “Would you like to come?”

“Yes, absolutely,” you agree.

“You might want to wear some pants,” she says. You look down at your shorts. “Longer pants, I mean. There are bugs.”

You chuckle. “Okay.”

.:.

Your thighs burn with effort a few hundred meters into the hike. The trail you’re following it’s wooden at least, so you don’t have to tredge up the sand like Monty. (He’d somberly shook your hand and  whispered ‘may we meet again’ while Miller took off for the bird-watching trail, 2.5 miles of nothing but nature and sand.) So, you know, you can appreciate the man-made pathways and you’ve taken a look at the brochure so there’s at least a boardwalk at some point -but still. The only saving grace might be the leggings clinging to Lexa’s thighs and you’re trying very hard not to think of those.

Lexa turns left a dozen steps in front of you, and you can see a few long steps up a steeper part of the forest. You groan. You think Lexa might have actually _giggled_.

“Are you laughing at me?” You demand, buzzing too much with the sound of her _giggles_ to actually be angry.

“No,” she promises, but the smile doesn’t leave her lips. “If you don’t enjoy it why did you agree to come?” she asks.

The comment is on the tip of your tongue, but you swallow it down. Lexa looks so free and happy out here. And nothing you ever do together that feels quiet and special is that light. It’s more than attraction, you might have feelings for her, and you know a kiss or taking her to bed won’t do. You want Lexa, yes, but more than that you want to take her out on a date. You want to hold her hand.  You shake your head.

“It’s supposed to be good for you, isn’t it?” You ask her. “Maybe not getting eaten alive by mosquitos, or...walking…” She laughs, and you swear it bounces around inside your ribcage. “But, I mean, I can see the appeal.”

She stops and digs through her bag.

“Here.” She extends you a small bottle.  “It’s just alcohol. It’ll takes the itch away. I also have some-”

“Is that weed?” you ask, when you catch dry crushed leaves in a small plastic bag.

“Bay leaves,” she tells you, chuckling.  “You rub them on your skin and it’s better than repellent.”

“You came prepared,” you say. You dab some alcohol on your skin and push down the urge to jump when it burns where you’ve been scratching, then hand it back to Lexa. You take a pass on the herbs.

“I told you my uncles were big on camping,” Lexa says.

“Your uncle Gus.”

“Yeah, and his husband. They rented out a cabin in the woods every year,” Lexa explains, putting everything back in her bag and going back to the trail, though this time noticeably slower in deference to you. You still don’t know how she can be barely an inch taller than you and still have such longer legs. “He passed away three years ago. Gus has never really gone back to spending the summer there. This is the first time in years that tent has seen some use.”

“I’m sorry about your uncle,” you tell her, and _God_ , you are. No one should have to know so much hurt. “Where you two close?”

“Not really, no,” she tells you, and you feel a little bad about it but you’re glad. You can’t fathom Lexa missing more people that she loved. Her eyes when she told you about Costia still make you ache inside. You miss Wells everyday and you can’t imagine missing someone else the way you miss him, how someone could survive that sort of loss two times over. “I didn’t see Gus very often when I was younger. My dad didn’t like it. I only met his husband once or twice by accident and realized why that was. It wasn’t until I was 16 that I actually started spending more time with him.” She stuffs her thumbs in her pockets.

“I’m sorry,” you tell her. She stops walking and turns to you..

“Are you- I don’t mean to pry. Are you out to your parents? And that’s assuming you’re queer because I saw you with Niylah and-”

“No, yeah, I’m bisexual.” Your stomach still swoops when you say it outloud. “And I’m out to them, yes. Ever since I was in 8th grade.”

Her eyes widen a little and she nods. “May I ask...how did your parents take it?”

You wish you could give her something, maybe the understanding she might be seeking, but you have nothing but good stories, and you couldn’t be sorry for that.

“They were great,” you say. “I was in middle school and got a crush on a girl. After a few days of worrying about it I told my dad, and he just hugged me and told me that it was okay and that he loved me. And then I asked him to tell my mom because I was too nervous. So he did and then she said they were proud of me.” You shake your head lightly as you remember what followed. “My dad, uh, offered to make rainbow pancakes.” You scratch your forehead and Lexa smiles.

“I’m really glad it was like that for you,” she says softly, and you can tell she means it. With all you know about her parents you can't imagine what it must have been like for her. You know her father is a dick. That moment of fear where you finally say it….you can’t even imagine how it must be to get the wrong reaction.

“Lexa…my house is always open, you know?” you offer. “Raven and Octavia spend nearly every holiday with me. You’re welcome to too, whenever you want.”

She looks a little taken aback at your words, surprised even now. “Thank you, Clarke.”

“I mean it. I’m your friend, and I’m here for you.” You circle your fingers around her wrist gently, and her eyes snap to that touch before meeting yours. “Whatever you need, okay?”  She’s so strong, so _good_ despite her parents and the world of hurt she was in after her ex-girlfriend. It’s beautiful, and it shines out of her with every breath. She nods, and though you don’t want to stop touching her, you do.

.:.

You’ve never liked hiking.

When your parents dragged you to a cabin a few years ago, turning their anniversary into a family vacation, you spent more time inside on your cellphone than seeing what nature had to offer. It’s not a secret that you don’t like to exercise, you’re not like Raven and Octavia that way. But if it always meant getting to follow a smiling Lexa around while she grew increasingly excited at the animals and flowers, you’d be more prone to like it.

“Look around,” she says, stepping into the boardwalk. It’s an elevated wooden structure rising above shallow water, the forest to your back and the ocean to your front in the distance, just after the wetlands. You can see what Lexa means, but can’t help but antagonize her.

“I’m looking,” you say, biting back a smile. “It’s a marsh, it’s wet.”

“Clarke.” She throws you a look before leaning over the edge. You ask whatever deity is listening for strength.

“Look, over there!”

You walk up to her side, but can’t see anything but plants where she’s pointing, and white birds that make you feel slightly on the set of The Notebook.

“There,” she insists, squeezing closer to you, and you have to swallow. You look but it doesn’t help, because it only makes you notice more keenly the heat of her body along your left side, the smell of a flower of which you can’t remember the name wafting from her hair, the sunscreen and sweat and sharp cleanliness of soap from her skin. It takes you a minute to notice the turtle making it’s way across the grass.

“Did you see it?”

“Yeah,” you tell her, watching her smile from the corner of your eye. Lexa is almost child-like in her joy, like a person who’s forgotten how to do something and then trips over their own feet trying to embrace it all at once again. It makes you smile.

She steps away from you and sits on the wooden railing.

“Watch it,” you say. “If you fall I’m not jumping in after you.”

She smiles. Red settles high on the apples of her cheeks, a sheen of sweat over her neck and collarbones. Her memento mori ring sits on the hollow of her throat, worn as a necklace. Lexa digs through her bag and pulls out a water bottle, drinking greedily from it. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and offers the bottle to you. You shake your head, partly because you have your own bottle, partly because something as silly as sharing a bottle of water makes you buzz. You’d still be putting your lips somewhere her lips have touched and you want to slap yourself for that one. You’re being ridiculous, but it’s never felt like this before.

“There’s another trail not too far from here,”she tells you, her hands clutching a brochure. “Apparently Hurricane Sandy destroyed it back in 2012 but there’s still a section that survived. I’d love to see that.” She looks up at you, a tentative smile on her lips. “How are you?” she asks.

_Feeling like you could ask me to jump in the water and I would._

“I’m great,” you answer. Sweat drips down between your boobs and your thighs start to ache. “We should go.”

She jumps down from the railing and wipes her face with her hands, smooths down her ponytail. You snort when she turns to you, your eyes on a smudge of dirt down her cheek.

“What?”

“You have…” You tap your own cheek to show her but she gets the wrong side. You chuckle. “Here, let me.” You raise your hand to her face, gently rubbing your thumb down her cheek to get rid of the dirt. You’re so close you get hit with how purely green her eyes are, even at the edge of your vision.

Your thumb slows down without your knowledge, and you’re left gently cupping her cheek in your hand.

“There.” Your heart beats fast, and when you dare to meet her eyes you feel trapped in her half-lidded gaze.

You want to kiss her, you've never wanted anything more. Her cheek is so soft under your fingertips, and the wisps of hair that have escaped her ponytail tickle the back of your hand. She’s beautiful and strong and terribly sad and wonderfully hopeful, and it makes you dizzy. It makes everything in you tremble as you step forward.

Lexa jumps back as though you’ve burned her, her fingers roughly grabbing your wrist and pushing it away. She looks down to the floor while you struggle to understand what just happened.

“We should keep going,” she says instantly, and she sounds just as breathless as you felt not a second ago.

“Yeah,” you agree, voice rough. Apologies crowd at the tip of your tongue, but Lexa is already ten steps ahead of you. Embarrassment paints your cheeks red, and it’s cold of all sudden, your entire body.

.:.

Lexa rattles off facts about the Life of the Forest trail the entire hike and you listen and complain at appropriate times, but neither of your hearts are in it. You’re both trying to ignore what happened back there and you know it.

You wish you hadn’t tipped your hand like that because now it’s clear she doesn’t want that. She doesn’t see you that way, or she’s not ready, or both -either way you crossed a line that you shouldn’t have. You got carried away, and if she hadn’t pushed away you would’ve kissed her, and this would have been ten time worse. Your eyes sting, and you hope you can pass off any tears as sweat. _Stop it, Griffin. Don’t cry in front of her. Don’t fucking cry._

You shouldn't have done that, but at least now you know. And it’s better that it was now, better that you didn’t fall in love with her because that would have been so easy. Effortless. You fight through the slight rolling of your stomach to keep walking.

You can be her friend, and nothing more than that. Lexa needs a friend, and you can give her that.

You wish you didn't feel this way, like your entire chest is collapsing because a pretty girl doesn’t like you back. It’s ridiculous. And you know, you _know_ that romance isn’t everything, and friendships are just as important,  but it still hurts. You need to get over yourself.

You have the trust of this wonderful girl in your hands, and you know how precious that is, how hard it is for her to give it. She’s been so hurt by people who were supposed to love her no matter what, and she’s lost someone she loved -it’s a damn miracle you have her in your life at all.

Your stomach still falls as you follow after her.

.:.

You walk back into camp in the mid-afternoon, the sun mercifully abating and a cold breeze coming in from the ocean. Lexa takes off toward her tent and you’re too much of a coward to follow her.

“Hey, Bell!” You call out. “You need help with lunch?” _Please say yes, please say yes_.

“Nah, it’s okay,” he answers. “Murph and I got it.”

“Murph? Oh God.” Octavia appears beside you , her voice fake horrified.

“O, be nice.” Bellamy didn't so much come out to all of you as he got drunk and you found him making out with a guy in the bathroom of your house during a party your senior year. You and Raven offered to make him a ‘welcome to the club’ sign later, and that was it.

“I _am_ nice, barely teased him at all,” Octavia says, before turning to look at you. “You stink of sweat, but you don't look like you've been having fun. What happened?”

Your stomach jumps at the question, and you’re cheeks feel hot in a way that has nothing to do with the sun beating down on you all day.

“I think i'm going to help Bellamy with lunch,” you tell Octavia instead of answering.

“Clarke.” She grabs your wrist to prevent you from leaving, and it only hurts when you remember how Lexa had pushed you away. (Lexa owes you nothing, stop, _just stop_. Don’t be a goddamn frat boy.)

“It’s nothing.” You can tell Octavia doesn’t buy it. You sigh. “I’ll talk to you guys when we’re back at school like always, okay? Now go get dressed and call your boyfriend, I think lunch is almost done.”

“Yes, mom,” O says, squeezing your shoulder before she walks away.

.:.

Lunch is a bacon-wrapped, meat patty monstrosity that only a frat boy could come up with, and  tinfoil baked potatoes you carefully roll out of the hot coals of the fire. There’s a tub of melting sour cream being passed around somewhere. Everyone’s laughing and digging in, but you can hardly look at your burger let alone feel like eating it. Octavia and Raven keep sending you questioning stares, and if they keep looking at you like that you might actually break down.

“Where are the vegetables?” Monty asks, picking at his bacon.

“They must have carrots or something for the horses, you want me to ask?” O asks him teasingly, her fingertips shining with grease and half the meat gone already. You shake your head.

“There’s lettuce in the cooler if anyone feels like preparing some,” Bellamy says, and you see your chance.

“I got it,” you announce, and set your plate down.

It’s mindless work, and you’re thankful for it. Your fingers peel away leaf after leaf and you throw them on a bowl full of water and salt. Your eyes catch the sad, last sixpack of beer floating on the murky water at the bottom of the cooler. Well, that one’s yours. You only hope Raven keeps you from spilling your guts anywhere Lexa might hear.

Your friends chat and laugh in the background, and if you weren’t listening you wouldn’t have heard the footsteps approaching.

“Greenery coming up,” you say outloud.

“Hi,” Lexa says timidly, and you jump at her voice.

“Lexa, hey!”  You almost cringe at your tone of voice, but she startled you. You’re not a med student, but the way your heart has been beating for the past 24 hours can’t be healthy. She’s all bright eyes that tell you she’s been drinking and wild, loose hair. Your eyes follow the line of her neck to the ring-necklace on the hollow of her throat. You wonder if she’s always worn it like that, close to her skin. If you’re only noticing now because the weather is warmer. She always carries a piece of Costia with herself, and maybe if you had known that, you would have realized you didn’t stand a chance.

You tear your eyes away from her, bringing yourself back to the task at hand.

“You want some?” you ask her, but she doesn’t answer.

“Clarke, is everything okay with us?” She asks gently, a barely there whisper that makes you bite your lip and blink hard.

“Yes, of course.” You don’t ask ‘why?’, as if you could ignore whatever it is that happened on the boardwalk. But you don't apologize either, or bring it up. You don’t want to verbalize it -you’re too embarrassed.

“Okay,” she says. “Okay.” She nods, and she looks so fucking _relieved_ at what you’re saying it makes your throat ache. You misread things and nearly fucked things up. And the fact that _she’s_ the one making sure your friendship is okay?

“Yes, something green!” Monty exclaims as he skips up to you.

“I’m assuming you want some?” you tell him and he nods nearly desperately, eagerly offering up his plate.

“Please. I don’t think I can look at beef jerky ever again.”

“I second that,” Lexa says.

“Third that,” you tell them, and serve them each. Lexa waits until you’ve done the same with your plate, and you both return to the campfire together, her chair remaining empty as she sits next to you.

.:.

“We should wait before going down to the beach,” Bellamy announces, once the trash bag has gone around all of you, and the resounding groan in answer from your friends makes you smile. “Fine, but if one of you dumbasses gets a cramp and drowns I'm not fucking saving you.”

“It’s actually false that you need to wait before swimming,” Lexa pipes up from beside you. “I mean, there’s no evidence that you could get cramps from it and even if you did, you could just float until they pass. No need to drown.”

You smile to yourself. Sometimes you forget Lexa is such a fucking nerd. She’s smart, and gorgeous, and it stings. It aches so much that you don’t want to think about how much deeper than you thought you actually are. But it’s going to be fine. You still get to have her as a friend and eventually you’ll stop feeling for her all these things you didn't get a chance to name before they got shot down. She doesn't like you that way, and that’s fine. (I _t’s okay, it’s fine._ ) You can still be friends. She needs a good friend and you can offer her that.

“Well, there you go,” Octavia says, and heads the charge down to the beach.

You look at Lexa, and the back of your throat still hurts a little, like you’ve been swallowing back tears too hard, but she’s still leaving tomorrow and you’re so fond of her.

“Hey Lex, want to go into the water? Since there’s no need to drown and all.” You joke, and she smiles. It’s breathtaking. She nods.

You spent the rest of the afternoon in the ocean and playing in the sand. Bellamy and you end up losing to Lincoln and Octavia in a chicken fight, and you let Lexa and Monty bury you in the sand with the promise of not building you a pregnant belly or a huge pair of boobs. (Lexa’s blush when you said the last part made your stomach swoop and it felt too good to chastise yourself for it.)

Once it’s too cold to swim and too dark to hang out near the ocean you drag yourselves next to the fire, drying up and devouring chips and marshmallows, because none of you -not even Bellamy- feels like making something more elaborate. You ask an old man walking his dog to take a picture of all of you, covered in towels and blankets, chocolate staining your fingertips, tipsy and young and happy. It’s a moment you know you’ll remember. (Months later, you’ll have this photo tacked on a corkboard in your college dorm, and you’ll trace your finger over Lexa’s figure, her head lying on your shoulder.)

You crawl onto Lexa’s tent, your stomach sloshing with too much liquor and too few crackers to soak it up. Lincoln and Octavia are still outside, drunk dancing by the fire, and you know they’ll wake you when they inevitably drag themselves inside.

Lexa is already asleep, tucked inside her sleeping bag. Her hair is all over the place, still half-wet from the sea, and where you’re hoping not to get burn, her skin is tan from the sun. She’s warm and lovely and your fingers itch with the flesh memory of her cheek beneath your hand.

Raven slips into the room, and quietly removes her brace. You’re still staring at Lexa, you know you are, but you can’t stop. Raven lays down beside you, effectively a barrier between you and Lexa. You’re this side of drunk, and sleepovers with Raven and O through the years have proved you _will_ hold on to anything warm next to you in a chilly morning, so you’re thankful for Raven having your back. There are only so many hits you can take in the span of a few hours.

Everything is fuzzy around the edges when you finally lay your head down, and sleep takes you while you’re feeling like you miss something you never had.

.:.

You wake up last. By the time you manage to open your eyes through the headache splitting your head open, the tent is empty and you’re hot. You drag yourself out of your sleeping bag, and groan at the stiffness in your limbs. Your thighs ache like they do every time Octavia convinces you to go running with her, and the pain is another reminder of yesterday afternoon -not like you needed it.

“Clarke honors us with her presence,” Octavia announces when you manage to exit Lexa’s tent. You groan in her general direction, fighting the glare of the sun to find your old tent/current storage unit, and with it some painkillers.

“Lexa, need help packing up your tent?” You’re swallowing the pills when the conversation reaches your ears, and your stomach falls, because you’d actually forgotten she’s leaving today. Regardless of whatever happened yesterday, of how Lexa may or may not see you -you enjoy her company, you always have. She’s quickly becoming one of your closest friends and you simply, childishly, don’t want her to go.

You crawl out of your old tent just in time to watch Lexa shaking her head.

“Not, it’s okay,” she tells Lincoln. “You can keep it and just give it back to me when we’re back in school. I was going to tell Clarke-”

“Well, there she is,” he says, pointing to you, and Lexa turns around. Lincoln wanders off, and you’re left with Lexa and the butterflies who won’t die, regardless of how many alcohol you try to drown them with.

“Are you sure?” you ask her, nodding towards her ridiculously large tent. “Lincoln and Octavia don’t mind sleeping outside. Actually, Octavia is probably looking forward to it.”

“Yes. Please, keep it. It’s the least I could do.” She shrugs.

“What do you mean?”

“Everyone’s been great to me, and I know I haven’t known them for for very long,” she says, as if it wasn’t expected. Not for the first time, you wonder about her past. You don’t get a chance to correct her because she keeps talking. “I wanted to thank you, actually. Not just for inviting me but...for making me feel like I belong here.” She’s terribly honest in moments like this, a twitch of her lips betraying her nervousness; she’s terribly honest and terribly sweet. And she seems to have put your slip up at the boardwalk yesterday behind you already and you're thankful.

“You do. You're my friend, you’re _our_ friend. Octavia adores you already for what you said to Bellamy yesterday. And him and Monty and Raven...they all really like you.” Lexa can be charming, and the past two days she’s been nothing but -those smiles of hers, her little comments that give everyone a glimpse of how intelligent she is, the quiet attention she offers someone when they speak... She’s wonderful, and you’re not the only one who’s noticed. “You’re amazing, how could they not?”

“Thank you,” she tells you quietly, and you hope she believes you.

.:.

The morning passes away in a volleyball tournament you and Monty are disqualified from in the first round, after which you sit down and narrate the games. Lincoln and Raven are the unexpected favorite team, with Lincoln lifting Raven so she can score for them. Octavia and Lexa aren’t far behind, both fast and agile, and at the end, when they’re tied in points, Lexa and Raven opt out, leaving the lovebirds to fight it out among themselves.

You sit out the soccer in favor of finding something to eat, and by the time you’ve returned people have realized that running in sand is more difficult than it seems. Miller -bless him- pulls out a bag full of board games, and you wish you’d bought some cheap acrylics so you could pour them on the twister board people pick up.

Lexa skips the game of Twister in favor of packing her stuff, and you and Octavia offer to help her. She has a two hour drive ahead of her to Annapolis, where her uncle lives.

All too soon, her bags are in her car and you’re all standing in the parking lot, seeing her off.

Octavia hugs her quickly, and you’re both surprised by that. Lincoln kisses her cheek and Bellamy does the same. Lexa looks overwhelmed by it all, specially when Monty walks up to hug her as well. She’s stiff and awkward as she returns the affection, but she doesn’t look bothered.

“Have a safe trip,” Bellamy tells her. “Text us when you get there.”

“I’m sure she will, dad,” Raven says, dragging Bellamy back to camp. “Bye, Lexa. Don’t be a stranger.”

Your friends go back one by one, leaving you standing there by yourself. You offer Lexa a smile.

“I really had a lot of fun, Clarke,” she tells you.

“I’m glad to hear that,” you say. Lexa clasps her hands in front of her, switching her weight from one foot to another. “Come here,” you tell her. You open your arms and she steps into them, her scent enveloping you as you hug her close. “I’m so glad you came.”

“Me too,” she says, arms tightening around your back. You close your eyes, enjoying the closeness for a second, the way it makes your chest feel tight with affection and the wish for something you’re not going to get. And it’ll only be a week, but you’ll miss her. You want to kiss her cheek like your friends did, but you hold yourself back. It wouldn’t be fair.

Lexa steps away after a moment, too soon for your liking. “I’ll see you when we’re back at school?” she asks, and even now, it’s tentative, unsure. You don’t know if that will ever change about Lexa, but you hope it will.

“Absolutely,” you reassure her. “Text me when you get to your uncle’s, okay?”

She nods, a shy-sweet smile on her lips. It makes your chest hurt in the best way (in the _worst_ ). As you wave at her and her retreating car, you have a hard time telling yourself that it has to stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dissapeared for a few days there, but I couldn't stop writing long enough to edit&post. As you can see, we now have a set number of chapters left in this story. I tagged this fic as “enemies to friends to lovers” and I’d say we’re now firmly in the ‘friends’ part of that. Let me know what you thought!


	16. spring break, part three

The next few days pass by in a blur of laughter and the smell of the ocean, cotton candy and popcorn and children running around and tripping you as you walk.

Lexa texts you when she gets to her uncle, and after your response she doesn’t say anything back. It draws a frown to your face. You told her things were okay between you, but you’re not sure of how true that is, and you’re certainly not going to ask.

Is it okay if you text her? You don’t want to seem eager, but you can’t help but want to send her pictures you know she’d like, or tell her about things you know she’d find funny. And then you decide to throw caution to the wind and just do it, because she’s your friend, and friends text each other. (You hate having to second guess everything in regards to Lexa, but you brought that one on yourself.)

Miller calls you all to dinner by banging a spoon against a pan when you press send on a picture of most of your friends playing UNO inside Lexa’s tent. It’s from that afternoon, a bit after Lexa left. It started raining and her tent was the only one large enough to accommodate over ten people sitting crossed legged.

‘You’re a lifesaver’ you text her. She texts you back.

.

You spend Wednesday at the ‘Splash Mountain’ Water Park. The burn of water going up your nose is a constant, as is the bottom of your bikini dragging upwards as you flash down the slides and giving you a wedgie. You eat greasy French fries with water-pruned fingers, and scream your throat raw as you follow Octavia into a slide that has a loop. All in all, the park lives up to its name, and you fall asleep on Raven’s shoulder on the drive back to Assateague, the ends of your hair vaguely tinted green.

Your muscles ache the following morning, when you manage to drag yourself out of your sleeping bag and into some shorts and a bra, forgoing the cold outside shower available in favor of deodorant. You spend the day at the amusement park, and your stomach hurts from laughing after only a few rides. You eat so many corn-dogs and funnel cakes even Octavia looks a little bit nauseous, and you down it all with brightly colored slushies you’re sure would have Lexa cringing. (Even in the middle of a carnival, surrounded by your best friends and a hundred different distractions, she’s never too far from your mind.)

You’ve been texting since she left for her uncle’s house, and you think it might be a little silly, missing her like this, wishing she was here. You pull out your cell-phone and take a picture in front of the mirror of the bathroom , sticking out your tongue, and send it to Lexa.

‘ _Bathroom pit stop before the rollercoaster,_ ’ you text.

‘ _Sounds fun. I'm getting ready for bed,'_  she texts you back. You check your cellphone and the hour takes you by surprise, both because you’ve been here all day and haven’t felt it, and because it's too early to sleep.

‘ _It’s not even 8 yet!_ ’ you text Lexa. You smile to yourself. ‘ _Pics or it didn’t happen_ ’.

She sends you a picture of herself, eyes closed, her hair braided up like you haven’t seen it before. You wish you could see her eyes, but her cheeks are rosy and she looks…at ease. It makes something clench in your chest, something sweet and awfully tender, and you don’t wish she was anywhere but where she is -so obviously happy.

‘ _Sweet dreams_ ,’ you write, and mean it.  Lexa deserves all the sweetness in the world. 

.

You get in the roller coaster car next to Raven, and she throws you a daring smile as you get strapped down.

The ride starts.

Up there, for a few seconds…you feel weightless. You think of nothing, you remember nothing -you feel nothing but the air slamming against your face and the way your stomach jumps and twists. You are dizzy by the time you get down, more from lack of oxygen as you’re laughing too hard to take a proper breath than from the movement, and Raven leans on your shoulder, her ponytail a mess.

It’s easily the most fun you’ve had in years.

.

Your friends and you decide to take it easy on Friday and just spend it at the boardwalk. It’s partly because you’re exhausted from the past few days, but mostly because your pockets are running low on cash after paying for entrance tickets and junk food for two days straight.

You, Raven and Octavia are spending the weekend at your parent’s house before going back to school, and the rest of your friends are making the drive back to campus straight away. You’re exhausted, and your thighs ache, and you really can’t think of a better way to finish off the week than curled up in your old bedroom with your best friends. (You can, actually, in an alternate reality where you kept your hands to yourself and Lexa was somehow included in the weekend -you won’t even entertain a notion where she felt the same. You don’t have a taste for hurting yourself.)

The boardwalk is pretty crowded, throngs of who obviously are college and high-school students soaking up the last of your Spring Break. The day is clear, warmer than the past week has been, and you take advantage of it to wear just your bikini top underneath a loosely buttoned shirt. You aren’t confident enough to walk around in a tube top like Octavia is, your stomach isn’t that toned, but your boobs are amazing, and they deserve to be shown off. (It doesn’t feel nearly as good as it usually does, to know you’re getting looks. You’re not remotely interested.)

You and Raven walk around the arcade as Lincoln and Octavia try to outdo each other in winning stuffed animals. So far, Octavia has won Lincoln two, and he in turn has won three. She’s clearly determined to change her number. Bellamy and Murphy promised to meet everyone for lunch, and you lost track of Monty and Co. somewhere a few stores back.

Kids run around the arcade, and a boy, no older than eight or nine, stops and eyes Raven’s brace. It sits shiny black on her bare leg.

“What’s that?” he asks. You used to have this bouts where you felt horrible about what happened to Raven during the car accident, the weeks following the accident and Well’s funeral where hard on all of you, and you tried to carry the blame for everything -even Raven’s leg. Her swift, strong hand grabbing you by the chin and telling you ‘Don’t you dare feel sorry about me or blame yourself for this’ stopped you in your tracks. Raven didn’t need your or anyone’s protection or pity back then, and she still doesn’t.

“It’s a brace,” she tells the boy.

“What’s it for?” he asks.

“It helps me walk.”

“Oh, okay. It looks cool,” he says shyly, and then runs off again.

“It does look cool,” a voice you recognize says from behind you.

“Finn?”

“Hey!” He gives you a quick kiss on the cheek as he says hello. He looks halfway between tan and sunburned, the area over his nose covered in freckles you didn’t know he had.

“Hi.” You feel Raven pinch you on the arm. “Finn, this is Raven. Raven, this is Finn-”

“Lexa’s roommate, is it?” she asks, raising her eyebrows at you. “Nice to meet you.”

They shake hands, and you can see Raven studying him carefully. You’ve mentioned him maybe once or twice in relation to Lexa, but she has an incredible memory. You -on the other hand- do not. You’d forgotten all about Finn and how his friends were going to be at Ocean City at the same time as you.

“It, huh, it completely slipped my mind,” you excuse yourself. “Rae, Finn told me he and his friends would be around the same time as us, that it’d be cool-”

“If we all met up,” he finishes for you.

“Great,” Raven says, but you don't think she's being sincere.

.

  
You agree to go to dinner together, a restaurant on the boardwalk offering you beer only Bellamy can legally purchase and enough space to seat Finn and his four friends and the eleven of you. You pile onto a long table, seven of you on either side, and Octavia and Monty take seats at either end. A couple of Finn’s friends are actually friends with Miller too, and Jasper shares a few class with Finn thought they’d never met before. It’s nice. It’s difficult to have one topic of conversation among so many people though, so you let the words drift comfortably around you.

A waitress drops menus in front of you, briefly brushing your arm as she passes you. You’re in the mood for something fresh and not deeply fried, and wonder when was the last time you had seafood. Shrimp would be nice.

“We could go to the haunted house after eating,” Octavia offers, eyes sparkling. You share a look with Lincoln across the table. Octavia has been trying to drag you to the haunted house for the majority of the day, but the last time you went through one with her -last year, at that rich guy0’s party Lincoln managed to get you in- she punched someone in the face when they scared her.

“The Hell Hole?” One of Finn’s friends asks. “Oh, we went twice already!”

Lincoln nods when Octavia looks pleadingly at him, and you know the poor bastard never stood a chance.

“I’m in.” Raven sighs. “But only if Clarke comes and doesn’t abandon us for our waitress.”

“What are you talking about?” you ask her, genuinely confused.

“You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed,” Raven tells you.

“Dude, she’s been staring at you since we came in,” Octavia adds. Your brow twists. You honestly hadn’t noticed, and you’re not oblivious to those things. You look behind you to the woman. She looks to be about your age, maybe a couple of years older. She’s blonde, a much lighter blonde than you, and when she turns her eyes are dark. She isn’t your type. (You have a thing for brown locks and green eyes these days, and you’re painfully aware of it.)

“Oh, you’re…” Finn looks slightly panicked when you look up, like a fish out of water. Raven holds in a chuckle.

“I’m bi,” you explain, and hope Finn isn’t an ass about it, but he’s been nothing but nice so far. He’s visibly relieved. He likes you, you know that -the few times you’ve spoken he’s flirted with you and fed you horribles lines, but that just confirms it further. It feels good, to have someone interested in you. To have him lean in when you speak instead of moving back.

“Oh, that’s cool.” His voice is a little thin when he says it, a little surprised, and Raven chuckles loudly now, not making an effort to keep it down anymore. You’ll give Finn some credit, although his cheeks are pink, he moves on from the topic like you’re discussing the weather.

.

“You can hold on to me if you get scared,” Finn tells you, right outside the Haunted House. Lincoln, Octavia and Raven walked in just before you, and you heard their screams right away.

“You sure you won’t be the one needing to hold on to me?” You tease him half-heartedly. He’s so blatantly flirting with you you’re blindsided for a moment, because it’s been quite a few months since you’ve done this dance. But at the end of the day it’s like riding a bike.

“I don’t know,” he says, shrugging, and it’s an answer you didn’t expect. It’s so easy to answer back.

.

You make the decision in the time it takes the old ferris wheel car to reach the top.

Your friends and Finn’s friends have hung out the entire night and you keep thinking, maybe this is exactly what you need. Your cell-phone pipes up with the occasional text from Lexa, and every time you pull it out and text her your chest aches a little with embarrassment, disappointment. You know you get to be her friend, but you don’t know how you stop feeling for her and looking at her lips. That’s when you decide this is exactly what you need.

The ride halts and the wind whips your hair and Finn’s lips are warm when you kiss him. His breath tastes like beer when he opens his mouth and you push harder against him, wanting to feel something. Your heart beats faster as he cups your cheek with his hand but the rasp of stubble on his chin makes it hard to pretend that it’s Lexa -you pull away.

“Wow,” he breathes out. The ferris wheel starts moving again.

“Would you go out with me?” He asks in a rush, as if he was trying not lose his nerve. You just kissed and he’s nervous about asking you out. It makes you want to laugh. Maybe this isn’t what you expected when you left on this road-trip, but perhaps it’s what you should do. You nod.

“Yes. Okay.” You give him a smile.

.

You turn up the headlights as you drive back to Assateague. The moon is hidden behind clouds, and the dark blue of the sky is streaked with gray in places, a storm threatening in the horizon. You’ve already texted your parents to let them know you, Raven and Octavia will be driving over first thing in the morning, and you’re glad this will be your last night in a sleeping bag.

The water droplets start to fall as you park the car, and the sky gives you just enough time to get into your tents before it starts raining.

“I’m sleeping with the girls tonight, babe,” Octavia tells Lincoln, giving him a quick kiss before launching herself at you and Raven.

“Hey, Jasper!” Lincoln calls out. “There’s room in here if you want to stop sleeping with the pots and pans!”

A light drizzle carries through the whole night. You fall asleep pretty quickly but wake up in the middle of the night, cold. Lincoln ends up coming in and wrapping himself around Octavia at some point. A few minutes later, the zipper opens again and Jasper makes himself comfortable lying by your feet.

The five of you are crowded inside the tent with a perfectly good empty room on the other side, but this is better, and warmer, and the water doesn't get in.

.

Octavia curls up in Lincoln’s lap in the backseat of the car and sleeps for most of the drive home, and after a while his head drops back too. Raven fiddles with the radio for about 5 minutes before just pulling out her cell-phone and putting the most god-awful pop anthems through the car stereo. You sing at the top of your lungs. Octavia doesn't wake up. Lincoln offers backing vocals when your screeching doesn’t let him go back to sleep, still cradling O in his arms.

At the Washington state line Lincoln changes cars. He kisses Octavia long and hard, to Raven’s whistles, and though you laugh -you can’t help but crave feeling like that. Lincoln jumps into the backseat of Miller’s SUV, sliding in next to Jasper. Octavia waves at Lincoln as the boys drive away. You’re incredibly happy for her -but tendrils of jealousy wrap themselves delicately around your throat.

You haven’t told Raven and O about about what happened with Lexa yet, or your kiss with Finn, and you want to. You’re not built to keep things like that inside yourself, you’re too open with your friends, they always slip out.

.

The drive to your parents house doesn't take very long with your two best friends in the car with you, and before you know it you're pulling into their driveway. There aren’t any cars in the drive way, so your mom is still at the hospital.

“My baby is back!” Your dad says as he walks out of the house. He pats the hood of the car. “Oh, and so is my daughter.”

“Very funny,” you tell him, as you jump out of the car and wrap your arms around him, hugging him tight.

“I missed you, bug.”

“You saw me a week ago,” you say, muffled against his chest.

“I used to see you everyday, imagine that.” He presses a kiss to your forehead and lets you go.

“Raven.” He fists bump her. “Octavia.”

“Mr. G,” Octavia says, and slaps him on the shoulder. You roll your eyes, but smile to yourself.

Your dad used to say he didn't have one daughter, he had three. You met O and Raven when you were all around fifteen -Octavia was even younger-, and neither of them really had a set of parents. Octavia lived with her aunt and Bellamy, and he did all the parenting he could while balancing a few college courses and a job. Raven never met her dad, and her mom is an alcoholic -which she trusted you with nearly six months after you met. So your parents more or less took them in.

Raven has a full ride scholarship for coming in second place in a crazy national science contest your senior year, and O plays for the school’s soccer team so they cut her expenses, but your parents have sent text books back to campus with you that they need, and when O twisted her ankle last year all her hospital bills were covered. They’re yours sisters, it’s that simple.

.

You drop a bagful of dirty, sand-heavy clothes in the laundry machine, certainly missing living at home if only for this one commodity. Your phone vibrates, and you’re disappointed when it’s not Lexa but Finn. You answer him, adding a few emojis for good measure. You want to invest yourself in this. You’re going on a date with him next week and you’re trying hard to get excited about it. Point blank: you have feelings for Lexa, and she doesn’t, and you need to get over them -and Finn seems like the best possible way to do it. Distraction, distraction. He likes you, and he’s fun, and you can have fun together.

“Who are you talking to so much?” Raven asks when you sit down on the breakfast island next to her, cell-phone still in your hand.

“As if we don’t know,” Octavia says. Your dad raises his eyebrows from where he stands by the stove.

“His name is Finn,” you tell him.

“Finn, for real?” Raven asks.

“Yeah.” You wanted to tell them everything later tonight, but you might as well do it now. “We...huh, we’re going on a date when we go back to school.”

“Who’s Finn?” your dad asks.

“He’s…a friend,” you explain, and Octavia gives you a look. “Lexa’s roommate.”

“That’s a mess in the making,” Raven says under her breath.

“Her roommate?” your dad asks, and even he looks a little confused. You’ve told him about Lexa, but you didn’t fully accept how you felt about her until a few days ago (and how did you manage to subsequently fuck things up so fast?) so it’s impossible he’ll know -but his gaze still feels knowing.

O and raven regard you quietly and you ignore them in favor of explaining things to your dad.

“Yeah. we’ve talked a few times at school. We met up with him and his friends at Ocean City.”

“I see,” your dad says. “Well, I hope you have fun. And you can tell me all about it when you get back like you used to do.”

“I was fifteen, dad. Those days are gone,” you say. You can feel Octavia’s and Raven’s eyes on you, but for the moment they seemed to have let it go.

“Are you sure you want to hear everything Jake?” Raven jokes.

“Do you know how she got the nickname Party Animal Clarke Griffin?” Octavia asks.

“She was a true legend in high school, our Griffs,” Raven says. “The Griffo.” You roll your eyes at that one.

“Hey, I invited that boy for breakfast after I found him sneaking out of my home,” your dad says.

“Oh God,” you groan. You were in 10th grade and it’d been your first relationship. Your parents were great upon discovering you were having sex, but they did found out when they caught Brian sneaking out of the house one morning so instead of grilling you both -they invited him to stay and have breakfast. You would have preferred to be punished, maybe. To this day, your parents both swear they were trying to be supportive.

“I’m a cool dad,” he says. “Am I not a cool dad?”

“I think you get less cool the more you have to say you are,” your mom’s voice says from the living room. You didn’t even hear her car parking in the driveway.  
“Really? It works that way?” Your dad asks, before he pecks your mom on the lips.

“Hi mom,” you say, and hug her quickly.

“Hi Abby,” Raven says.

“Mrs. G,” Octavia pipes up.

“We were just discussing our daughter’s escapades,” your dad tells her.

“Speaking off-” you take out your cell-phone and click on the gallery, effectively cutting off any talk about your old love life.

You filled up your cell-phone’s memory card with pictures and video, and you haven’t had the time to go through all of it.

There are so many blurry pictures, proof of drunk, dumb fingers. It’s a miracle you didn’t let the thing fall on the fire. You’re smiling in all the photos, some with Bellamy’s arms around your shoulder, some sitting on O’s lap, mirror beers on your hands.

There are a few shots that make your cheeks warm. Candids, more or less, shots of Lexa, her back to the camera, the sun setting her hair on fire. Her profile while she sits on the sand. Drunk selfies in the dark of the tent, Raven in the background. And then there’s the last ones you took, without Lexa, all of you at the boardwalk. Octavia on Lincoln’s back, you holding Raven’s leg, Bellamy holding Murphy bridal style. You smile faintly at the sheer happiness reflected in the photo.

“Looks like you had a lot of fun,” your dad says.

“And a lot of underage drinking,” your mom retorts.

“Your mother says that, but I met her when she was a med student with a penchant for white wine,” your dad says. “You should have seen her when finals week rolled around. She would be holding the bottle in one hand and a pen in the other." 

“Judging the age, not the drinking,” your mom says. “And your dad is exaggerating. I never drank straight from the bottle. Your grandma raised me better than that,” your mom jokes, and you’re still surprised. Your relationship was strained for so long before you left for college, and now it’s…not easy, but better. You smile.

“We were responsible,” you promise. “No one got blackout drunk.”

“Just what a mother wants to hear,” she says, long suffering. “I’m glad you had fun, sweetheart.”

“And that you decided to visit your old parents instead of continuing your week of debauchery,” your dad adds.

“Clarke was like, part-time moping after Lexa left,” O says. “There was hardly any debauchery.”

“Is that a new friend?” your mom asks. You don’t talk to her the way you do with your dad, so she hardly knows anything about how you and Lexa used to carry on, how close you are now. But you expected your dad had relied the information to her.

“Yeah, my old roommate,” you confirm.

“Oh, Lexa as in Alexandra.”

“Alexandria, yes.” Her full name is such a pretty thing, you can’t help but savor every syllable.

“Oh, and did Lexa have a good time?” your mom asks.

“She took Clarke hiking,” Octavia says.

“As in a forest?” your dad asks.

“Outside and everything.” Raven nods.

“That’s...interesting,” your mom says. Un-fucking-believable, they’re ganging up on you.

“Oh my god, I can actually exercise sometimes.”

“I believe you, honey.”

“Thanks dad.”

“Why didn’t you bring her?”

“She’s spending time with her uncle and her cousin. They live in Annapolis,” you tell them. “She left early too, before we went to Ocean City.”

“Well, you’ll see her soon enough, bug,” your dad says, getting up from the breakfast island. “No need to mope.”

.

“I have feelings for Lexa,” you say quietly. It’s sort of freeing to say it out-loud. Until now, you hadn’t realized how lonely it was to live in your own head, even if it was only for a few days. To keep those feelings to yourself.

You’re lying down on your bed, Raven and Octavia to either side of you, and it feels like a weight has been lifted.

“Took you long enough,” Raven says. You roll your eyes. You can’t believe you’ve been obvious enough that they would have realized you were into Lexa before you did, but then again -you’ve always been sort of obsessed with her, mystified.

“Rae,” you say carefully. Because you can only wish it was that simple. Maybe a few days ago you would have thought so, but not anymore.

“I’m guessing that’s not it,” Octavia says.

“When we went hiking, something happened,” you say. Raven makes this noise at the back of her throat and sits up, Octavia follows suit. They look hopeful, the both of them. You can understand now, why they were wary, why O told you to be careful with Lexa. You got hurt. You take a deep breath and sit up, taking your pillow and hugging it to your chest, your back against the wood of the headboard. It feels solid, whereas that hike feels like something made of air and fantasies that fizzled out. A butterfly slammed against a windshield. “We were hiking,a nd we got to this boardwalk. Lexa…” You smile to yourself. “She got this thing on her face so I offered to get it for her-”

“Smooth,” Raven teases you, and you swallow. You look at both of them, and they begin to understand it’s nothing good.

“I had my hand on her cheek and we were standing so close to each other..:” You hold the pillow closer. “I thought something was going to happen...but then she pushed me away and bolted.”

“You tried to kiss her?” Octavia asks you.

“No.” You’ve been over that moment over and over for the past few days, and you’re not even sure. “Yes. I don’t know. A second later and I would have.” You smile bitterly. “I thought we were having a moment. I mean, it’s fine. It’s fine. I just...I really thought there was something there, I finally accepted that I like her as more than a friend and I thought that maybe she felt the same.” Your throat itches, but you won’t let yourself cry. “And I feel awful because all this time she’s just beginning to trust me and I keep telling her we’re friends and then I pull that shit and- I just really care about her. I don’t want to have fucked things up.”

“You seemed fine when she left,” O says softly.

“And you’ve been texting all week,” Raven adds.

“I know. It’s just…” You shrug. You don’t know. Maybe it’s conceited of you, but you’ve never felt like this, never been rejected like this, and it stings more than you could have possibly known.

“Fuck,” Raven says. “I’m sorry, Clarke. I wouldn’t have mentioned anything downstairs if I’d known something happened.” You shrug again, trying to brush it off, but you still wipe underneath your eyes. “But why are you sure Lexa doesn’t feel the same?” Raven asks.

“Don’t, Rae,” you warn her. You can’t do this. You’re not in the business of hurting yourself.

“You know how closed off she is. Maybe she freaked out.” Raven sits up closer to you, her eyes bright with ideas you won’t entertain. “She looks at you like a lost puppy.”

“I’m her friend, she doesn’t have many of those,” you tell her. You can remember so clearly Lexa’s green, half-lidded star, you could paint her from memory, but what you won’t do is let yourself fixate on it, give it a meaning it doesn’t hold.

“I’m with Raven,” Octavia says. “I wouldn’t have teased you so much if I didn't think you’d end up dating.”

“O, not you too. I cant do this, okay? I cant imagine that maybe she feels the same and then find out it’s not true again. It would ruin our friendship.”Your voice threatens to break. “It would ruin me.” They quiet down, accept your words, but you can tell it’s not the last time you’ll talk about it. They’re giving you a chance to collect yourself.

“So, what’s this thing with Finn?” Raven asks finally, changing the subject, and you’re thankful.

“He’s…” You shrug. “Nice. Fun”

“A ‘nice guy’?” Octavia asks, her hands making air quotes. “Really, Clarke?”

“I like him,” you say, and it’s not completely a lie.

“You like him? Or you like that he likes you?” Raven asks, and you should stopped being surprised when your genius future mechanic of a friend keeps hitting the nail on the head.

“Either, both. I think this is what I need to get over Lexa.” Now that is the truth. “I’d like to look at her and not feel like I’m going to throw up butterflies.”  
“You say the sweetest things,” Raven says, settling back down on the bed.

“Finn is there. We’d just be having fun.”

“So...are you going to sleep with him, actually go on a date?” Octavia wonders.

“Either, both.” You repeat. You can’t imagine having sex with Finn, or anyone else for that matter. Not yet. Not when you’d just be imagining someone else the entire time. When his hands and stubble and weight wouldn’t match the delicate gentleness you crave, the long fingers, the sweet smell. You shake your head, putting your pillow back down and plopping down next to Raven.

“Well, we’re here for you whatever you choose, okay,” Raven promises, draping her arm over your waist in a half-hearted hug.

“We kissed in the ferris wheel,” you confess quietly, once Octavia has laid back down next to you.

“That sounds romantic,” O offers.

“And?” Raven eggs you on.

“It’s been a while since I kissed someone. It was fun.” It was. You like kisses, you like sex. You don’t have to be attached to the person to enjoy it, and for how short it was, Finn knew what he was doing. It just didn’t feel like…anything more.

“I’m sensing a ‘but’,” Raven says. You sigh. You nudge Octavia’s side so she’ll turn the lamp off, and once the room is sunk in darkness you scurry under the sheets and turn on your side.

Of course there’s a but. Finn feels like a repeat of Brian, your 10th grade boyfriend. Or Mia, who you dated your senior year. Or Niylah, or every one night stand you’ve ever had. It’s fun, yes, and it’s good…but now you’ve felt -for however fleeting a moment- this pure, raw excitement you've never felt before. The way your heart beat so loud and strong you could feel it in your entire body, how you were hyper conscious of Lexa’s cheek beneath your palm and your knees ached with wanting to run away and step forward at the same time. It was just a second, before it came crashing down. But you felt more in that second of nothing, standing in that boardwalk on top of a marsh, skin slick with sweat and legs itching with mosquito bites and the uncomfortable, stifling heat of the morning…that you did in a long ride to the top of a ferris wheel, the cool wind rifling your hair and a nice guy saying all the right things.

It’s been quite for a while, and you think Raven and O might be asleep already, when you finally give them an answer.

“But I still wished it was Lexa the whole time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love the smell of pining in the morning. :) 
> 
> Let me know what you thought!


	17. march, part three

_"She rarely collapses, but when she does it’s in the quiet form of the sky splitting in two."_

_Salma S._

.

Campus looks beautiful when you get back on Monday.

Spring is in full swing and it shows. The few cherry blossoms around campus are beginning to bloom, and the grass is seemingly greener. It drizzled while you were driving over (your dad mercifully let you borrow his car for the rest of the semester) and the pavement is damp with it still. Everything seems brighter. It’s hard to believe that just a week has gone by when things feel so different. When you feel so different.

A week ago, you didn’t recognize the knot of aching tenderness that you stomach turned into whenever Lexa was around for what it was. A week ago, you didn’t know that she didn’t feel the same, and you weren’t working hard to get over the way you’re so incredibly attracted to her, because you liked to believe your interest was purely aesthetic. Campus is bright and hopeful, but back then you didn’t have to try so hard to be the same.

Octavia jumps into Lincoln’s arms the minute she sees him, and they kiss in the middle of the parking lot. Raven whistles next to you, and you laugh. You’re not bitter, you could never be when it comes to one of your best friends, but a flash of pure want does run through you. You wish you had something like that.

“I’d tell you to get a room but yours is literally mine so…” Raven trails off, and Octavia doesn’t look the least bit bothered by her very public display of affection.

“Linc’s got a room,” O says cheekily.

“It’s been two days,” Raven says, and O clings to Lincoln’s muscled arm. There’s a sheepish smile on his face. He’s so smitten you can hardly believe it.

“Try going two days without when you’re getting it on the reg-”

“Tae,” Lincoln says gently, and O cringes when she notices how embarrassed he seems. “Sorry, babe.” She turns toward the both of you. “We’re going to…study. Actually, no, get lunch. I’m starving. See you.”

They basically hurry out of the parking lot, and you feel a flash of sympathy for Lincoln. Octavia can be a handful, but you know once she loves you it’s fierce. He’s lucky to have her. They’re lucky to have each other.

“Kinda makes you believe in the whole romance thing, don’t it?” Raven asks from beside you.

You nod.

You turn to face her. “Did you…” But she’s not paying attention to you. Her eyes are trained elsewhere, and when you follow her line of sight you see a guy you haven’t met before. He looks a few years older than you both, definitely not the fresh-faced boys in your year, and he looks like he definitely knows Raven. That must be Wick, Raven’s group partner.

“I’ll see you in our room?” Raven asks.

“Sure,” you tell her, before she walks away. You won't tease her about it, not yet.

You look around, because at this point it’s only fitting for Lexa to be here to receive you -except it isn’t, because Lexa isn’t yours the way Lincoln is Octavia’s, the way you can clearly see Wick wants to be Raven’s. They were waiting for your friends here, but there’s no one waiting for you.

You lug your bag behind you and start to make your way to your building. You’re game for staying inside and sleeping the rest of the day. You’re wondering if you can get some good pizza delivered when you see Lexa in the distance, and your breath catches in your throat. She’s wearing a dress, and you -shit. You’ve never seen her wearing a dress before. She looks so different, with her hair loose and over one shoulder; she looks absolutely amazing.

You start to walk toward her when you find yourself intercepted by a pair of strong arms and the smell of cologne.

“Clarke.” Finn swoops you into a hug before you realize what’s happening, and you laugh at his eagerness. It lasts a little too long to be considered just friendly, and afterward he presses a wet kiss to your jaw. You get the feeling he and his friends haven’t let the party die yet, if the smell of beer is anything to go by.

“Hey,” you greet him. You look over his shoulder but Lexa is not where you last saw her. Finn is talking to you so you drag your eyes away from the spot, and make yourself pay attention.

You let him carry your bag all the way back to your dorm.

.

Your knuckles rap softly on the half-open door before stepping inside Lexa’s room.

“Lexa?” She walks around the space, putting stuff into her messenger’s bag. “I saw you outside earlier but you disappeared,” you tell her.

“You looked busy,” she says, and you’re surprised by the bite in her tone.

“Lex?” She stops messing with her bag to look at you, and she’s so beautiful in the early morning light it feels like your chest is expanding. You imagine this is what people might feel after appendicitis surgery. You read once that people feel stings of pain in their shoulders, their chest, all because their bodies have been pumped full of air to make room for the medical instruments. You swell with something a lot heavier.

Lexa envelopes you in a hug.

Her slender arms are around you before you know it, and you gasp. You melt into her immediately, and it doesn’t escape your notice that this is the first time she’s initiated any sort of contact between you. You hold her just a bit tighter. She smells like spring itself, sweet flowers and rain and Lexa, and you don’t want to let go. She pulls away after a few breaths, and you miss the feel of her in your arms right away. It’s heady seeing her again, because you have feelings for her, because she’s gorgeous -but more than that, you’ve missed your friend.

“Did you have fun with your uncle and Anya?” you ask her, and hope your face doesn’t betray you.

“Yes.” She nods, though her expression doesn’t match her wringing hands. “We can talk later, but I have to get to class now.” she says abruptly.

“No one goes to the first class, Lexa. You know they don’t actually say anything worthwhile.”

“Assistance is mandatory, Clarke.”

You’ll never tell her, but you’d be hard pressed to find anything more endearing than Lexa saying that unironically.

“Of course it is,” you say, and ignore Lexa’s vaguely offended expression when you roll your eyes. “I’ll see you later?”

She nods, gifting you with a small smile of her own, though it doesn’t feel sincere.

.

Later doesn’t come until the following day at Lunch in the cafeteria. Lexa has a freaking crazy schedule, and you don’t know how she manages to juggle an English and Political Science double major, but she shows up to lunch with you minutes after one of her classes is over.

You learn that afternoon that Lexa and Finn share a Political Economy class.

He joins both you during lunch and you notice right away how withdrawn Lexa becomes. She’s not fast to warm up to people -but Finn’s her roommate. And he called her once the ‘best roommate he’s had’ so you expected them to be familiar with each other, if not friendly, but Lexa is downright cold. Finn’s really into you, he makes that obvious, and you actually enjoy his company -but at the moment, you just want to hang out with Lexa. You want to know what she got up the rest of her spring break, if she had a good time. And you don’t want Finn interrupting that. Regardless, you don't find a moment alone with Lexa for the next couple of days.

.

You have the misfortune of signing up late to some of your classes, and have to take one of the night courses nobody wants. There’s something different about campus in the late afternoon, something you hadn’t noticed because the only time you’re ever here at that hour is in passing, while you go from one party to another.

It’s quieter, and there are less people, and you notice that some of the people in your class are older, adults with jobs and marriages and kids, who choose to study at night. That first class, you hear about people who are following their dream to study art late in their life, after being an accountant for 20 years, after being a stay-at-home dad until his son went to high-school…it puts things into perspective, because it could’ve been you, a doctor, studying art after years of med-school and a career you didn’t really want.

The class lets out at seven, and you have half an hour until your next one, so you choose to stop by Lexa’s room to kill time -and catch up in every way you couldn’t with Finn there. You don’t know if she’s home, but it certainly wouldn’t surprise you if she had classes at this hour, too. But when you knock on her door, Lexa answers right away.

“Clarke.”

“Hey, is Finn here?” you ask first, quietly, you don't want him interrupting you. Lexa’s face falls. You realize what it sounded like a second later, and hurry to tell her you didn’t mean it that way, but she’s already walking out and closing after herself.

“No, but you’re welcome to wait for him inside. I have to go to the library.”

“Lexa.” You huff out a laugh. “Wait.”

She turns to look at you, and the smile slowly leaves your face. It’s not just a misunderstanding. Lexa looks like you’ve hurt her.

“You know, you don’t have to keep being friends with me to get close to him,” she says, and you can do nothing but blink. “He’s had his eye on you since first semester, he was in our English class,” Lexa tells you.

“You think…Lexa.” You grab her wrist. “My thing with Finn has nothing to do with you at all.” (It does, it does, he’s the bridge you’re using to try and get over her.) “I wouldn’t use you like that. You know that.”

“I need to get to class,” she says, never meeting your eyes, and promptly walks off.

You’re tempted to grab her and make her listen to you, but the last time you tried that she blew up and you didn’t talk for days. Lexa doesn’t do well with being forced to talk, you realized that the hard way. She’s like a skittish deer that way.

It hurts you, that she would think you’d be friends with her just to…what? Be friends with Finn, too? It hurts because she’s the one you’re screwed up over, not Finn. How could Lexa think that every time you’ve asked her over to your dorm, whenever you had lunch together…inviting her to spend Spring Break with you, were over some boy. It doesn’t make any sense.

Did she fucking black out when you almost tried to kiss her?

Or does she think that you were only ever after because you had feelings for her, and now that it’s clear that’s off the table you don’t care? It’s so backwards, because the entire reason you’re trying this thing with Finn in the first place is so you’ll be able to look at Lexa and not feel your breath catch in your throat.

Lexa pushed you away, yes, but becoming friends with her, bringing her with you on Spring Break…it was never about that. Your feelings for her appeared long after you met her, and they slowly grew out of your control into something that feels too big to be contained inside your chest. But it was never about that. You like her, you genuinely like her so much, and her friendship isn’t a ‘second best’ to a relationship, you won’t let it.

It’s not a case of ‘you’d rather be her friend than be nothing’. Fuck, of course you’d love to kiss her, but if she doesn’t feel the same then it doesn’t matter. You’ll get over it. You never meant to lose her because of that.

You surprise yourself when your eyes begin to sting. Did she really have to think the worst of you? And then another thought hits you, that she might be jealous of Finn -but you blast it out of existence as soon as it arrives. You can’t think like that. You went through being rejected by her once, but you refuse to go through it twice.

You also refuse to let her go on thinking whatever the hell it is you’re doing with Finn affects your friendship, that it even has anything to do with it (except it does, but in all the ways Lexa can’t know about).

It feels like you’re always chasing after her, like you pull and she pushes you away, constantly, but you don’t know how to stop. You don’t want to. And you could choose to be angry at her for going back to her old routine of acting like an asshole to you, you could choose not to talk to her until she apologizes, you’re in the right here and you could widen the chasm between you. But you won’t.

And you're going to blow off a good forty dollars now but it’s worth it, all you need is an Uber.

.

You put the food down in Lexa’s neat desk. You remember how it enrages her when food gets on her sheets. Back when you were rooming together she would throw you the dirtiest looks when you had dinner on your bed, and her eyes would widen when you threatened to throw some her way. You smile to yourself. You take out the plastic containers from the bag, and the delicious smell spreads through the room. Finn is not here, and for that you’re thankful -his presence would sort of defeat the purpose.

“Clarke?”

You turn around to meet Lexa’s eyes. She looks sad and confused standing just inside the door.

“Spinach samosas,” you say. “They’re your favorite, right? But you don't get them often because it’s too far away from campus.” You were listening when she talked. Lexa loves lasagna, any lasagna, even the cafeteria’s terrible chicken one -but she’s incredibly particular about her samosas.

Now, you watch as she swallows. She looks confused and repentant, eyeing you like you’re about to disappear.

“You can’t blow off school to get Indian food,” she says, her voice small. She drops her bag near her bed, but you notice how she keeps her distance from you.

“Sure I can, I did.”

She takes a deep breath before speaking, and when she does, the words rush out.

“I’m really sorry for my behavior, Clarke. It was childish and-"

"Sit down, you big dummy,” you interrupt her. You've heard the words before, the last time she left you standing by yourself and a mouthful of words. You’re so weak when it comes to Lexa, you can’t help it. You’ll never let anyone walk over you, it’s not _in_ you. But you get it. She’s been so hurt. It doesn’t excuse it or give her a free pass but- Lexa has been through so fucking much. You just think of how her father hates who she is and how her girlfriend fucking died and you -you can’t do it. You cant resent her. You buy her her favorite food while you wait for an apology that you know is coming, because you know her MO by now.

She obeys you and sits down on the edge of her bed, back straight, her hands laying down on her thighs.

“I get how hard trusting people is for you,” you say. “I’m sorry if I made it seem I only came here to see Finn-”

“You didn’t,” she’s quick to say. “You have nothing to apologize for.” It’s true, you don’t. But this friendship you have with her is fragile, it requires care. Besides, she forgave you for the boardwalk, you guess you can forgive her for yet again freaking out on you, even if you don't fully understand the reason.

Lexa doesn’t have a lot of friends, you know this. You’re tempted to believe you’re the only person she talks to outside of class, along with Raven and O, and that’s only because of you. You don’t understand how it may feel, but for Lexa…at least you can see how it could look, you having a thing with Finn. Like you’re using her, or replacing her.

“I was here to see you,” you tell her. “I was only asking about Finn so he wouldn't interrupt us,” you explain, handing her one of the take-out boxes.

“I'm sorry,” she says, when receiving the container from your hands.

“I would never be friends with someone just to get something out of it,” you say, and then your voice drops down. “It hurt that you’d say that.”

“I didn’t mean it,” she says right away. She looks anguished. “I don't know why -I’m sorry.”

“I know.” You don't want her to keep apologizing, you want her to see that she doesn't have to push you away in the first place. But that is how Lexa is, she’s skittish and a flight risk and it doesn’t make you angry, it only makes you want to prove yourself, to make her see that you’re worthy of her trust.

“It’s always just us, or us and Octavia and Raven, and now he’s always there,” Lexa says, brow knotted. She seems to realize what she just said and looks up at you alarmed. “I mean…I- I live with him. I’m getting kind of tired of his face,” she tries to joke, but it falls flat.

“I promise whatever I have with Finn stays out of this dorm from now on. Okay? And it won’t interfere with our friendship.” It’s what you think she wants to hear, but her brow doesn’t relax.

“Okay,” she says. She sits back against her headboard, the carton of takeout in her lap. It's a damn miracle she does it, and you wonder if eating on her bed actually bothered as much as she said it did back when you were roommates. “Clarke…I don’t deserve this.” She looks up at you a little desperately, and you know more than you did before that this was the right choice for you. It's just take out, but it means a lot more.

“You deserve nice things every once in a while.” You squeeze her ankle, and climb up on the bed.

“Not after I’m such a bad friend to you,” she says.

“You weren’t that bad,” you tell her. “I think I’ll decide when I want to treat you.”

“Why?” Lexa asks. And you know she isn't just asking about you buying her dinner. She looks at you expectantly, like she’s waiting for you to give her something. Why do this for her? You don’t have an answer you can say out loud.

You kiss her cheek quickly instead. “Eat your food before it gets cold.”

.

That night when you go to sleep, all you can think about is Lexa. It’s not a new development.

Your heart is confused, because you swear to God Lexa was jealous of Finn, but it’s not the kind of jealousy you want. You want to tell her he kissed you and see envy in her green eyes. You want things you have no right to ask for, and it’s not fair of you, and more than anything -it hurts. But the feeling you got when she closed her eyes in delight at the first bite of her favorite snack, that warmth in your chest at seeing her happy? It made it worth it.

.

The first week back at school goes swimmingly after that.

Lexa is mellow for days afterward, and you file the information that surprise Indian food will do that to her for later. You hang out at your dorm, the two of you and Raven and Octavia, and watch movies in your laptop. She’s soft and kind, and you get back to how it felt to hang out during Spring Break.

You gently tell Finn to back off a little from your lunches with your friends, and in return agree to go on a date with him towards the end of the week. It goes well.

He’s funny and even more charming sober than he was during Spring Break. You go to the movies and you actually watch the film, have fun dissecting it later when he drives you back to campus. You kiss him before leaving his car. It’s short and hard, and his hand trails down your side before you pull away, just brushing over your breast.

It makes a pang of excitement shoot low in your belly. It's been a while, and you might not feel for him but you’re good at this, it can be fun. You need some fun. You walk back to your dorm and Raven and O are supportive, they try to be excited for you. They know how you feel about Lexa. And Finn is not Lexa, but you can make this work for you.

Because you can't keep having to swallow every time you meet up for breakfast at the cafeteria and you wonder how she can look so beautiful and awake so early in the morning. You can't keep going over every minute of your Spring Break trip and thinking of ways it could have gone differently. You can't keep staring at her lips when she speaks and feeling the sharp point of Raven's elbow digging into your side so you'll stop. Simply put, you can't keep crushing on her because it'll crush you.

You send Finn a text asking him out again before you fall asleep that same night.

.

To be fair, your art history professor announced the test before you left for Spring Break. She asked the class if they would rather do it the day before break or when you came back, and the raucous choir of students begged for the test to be delayed. So really, you have no excuse for when the fact you have a test the following days hits you and you know nothing. Except, you know, completely forgetting about it.

You don’t leave your room the whole day.

Octavia throws a breakfast burrito on your bed that morning before leaving for class, and you finish three cans of coke from your mini-fridge as the day drags on. Nothing helps. Nothing _sticks_.

You’ve never been a fan or cramming for tests.

You did well in high-school, and you could’ve easily gotten into med-school, but the things you knew that your classmates didn’t? They came from years of listening to your mom talk about her surgeries, they came from asking questions and watching documentaries that interested you. It wasn’t difficult to pick up a biology book and just know. But you loathed physics, almost as much as you loathed history.

Biology happened in the now, your heart pumped blood and your lungs converted oxygen into carbon dioxide and your stomach broke down the horrible junk food you fed it. But history had no relevance other than for the test you had to fill out, afterward that information would never be useful to you again, except as a not-so-fun party trick (like Bellamy often did). It was useless. It made you feel useless. Lexa would probably roll her eyes at your reasoning.

You’re thinking about her when you hear her voice, so at first your aching brain thinks you’re hallucinating her -which would be a fucking level-up in pathetic after dreaming about her. But when you look up from your place in Raven’s bed (’Rae’s bed is the only one at ground level, if I have to study from my bunk all the way up there, I’ll be tempted to jump and end my suffering’) Lexa stands there.

“Hey,” you croak out, and fight the urge to self-consciously brush back your hair.

“Hey," she greets you. "Octavia said you weren’t at lunch today because you have a history test coming up.” You groan. Don’t. Fucking. Remind me, you think. You push your book away with your socked feet, and flop down onto Raven’s pillow.

“Art history,” you grumble. “Just a bunch of straight dudes being pretentious.”

“Actually, a considerable amount of prominent artists were homosexual,” Lexa says, and you sit up on your elbows, tilting your head at her.

“You’re right, I guess,” you say. “How did you know that?”

“When you’re a teenager struggling with yourself, every little thing helps.” She shrugs. Lexa is closed off, you know that. But she gives you little things like that sometimes, little parts of herself that you put together in your head, forming the puzzle that is Lexa Woods. “Learning that the guy who painted the Sistine chapel my mom loves so much was really damn gay was pretty great,” she tells you, the corner of her mouth tilting up in a smirk.

You smile at her words.

“What are you trying to learn?” Lexa asks gently. She sits down on one of the uncomfortable wooden chairs campus offers along with your desks.

“Just a bunch of names, dates. I tried to google a good way to cheat but I sit too close to the front for that. My professor would notice if I switched seats.” Lexa widens her eyes at that, like cheating has never occurred to her. It probably hasn’t. “And that would be wrong, also,” you add, biting at a smile. And then, because you don’t want her to think you’re stupid. “I like doing things,” you explain to Lexa. “I can draw, and make stuff on Photoshop, and hell, even write essays...but reading through that thing and remembering stuff…It doesn’t work.”

Lexa tilts her head to the side, like she’s really thinking about it.

“Have you tried mnemonic devices?” she asks.

“What?”

“They’re strategies to help you remember,” she explains. “The method of Loci for example. It’s also called the mind palace. You basically imagine a room, and you place objects in the room to help you remember each thing.”

“My exam is tomorrow, Lex.”

“Okay.” She goes quiet for a second, and then her eyes light up. “I know a simpler one. Give me your hand.”

“What?” Your heart beat picks up.

“Your hand,” she repeats, and moves from the chair to Raven’s bed. You sit up. She takes your hand from its place on your lap, and when she leans closer you can inhale her scent.

You swallow.

“Okay, so, this finger.” She holds your hand in one hand and with the other touches your index finger. Her fingers are cold from being outside, and long and slender and impossibly soft as they touch your skin. “What’s the first topic?”

“Global prehistory,” you answer. You don’t know what she’s on about but she’s touching you so gently and you’re so weak.

“Okay, so think of this finger as global prehistory.” She trails her finger down yours, and your arm almost jumps. “What’s that about?”

“It...huh…” You don’t know if you have trouble focusing because you’ve been studying for too long, or because Lexa is so close. Flip a coin. “The earliest art was ornamentation,” you prattle off. “Snail shells found in Morocco, eighty two thousand years ago. Covered with..huh…red ochre.”

“Okay, so let’s say that’s your nail.” She taps your nail gently and then lets go of your hand, and you immediately miss the contact. “Every time you touch it you’ll remember that information. You could even draw a shell on it with nail polish.”

“Wouldn't that be cheating?” you ask her, teasingly, but your heart still beats fast.

“No, just… help.” She gives you a small smile. “What’s next?” She asks, tapping your next phalanx.

“Paleolithic period,” you say. “Art in caves. Altamira, Lascaux…I cant remember the rest. There’s four of them.”

“What else?”

“Neolithic period. Stonehenge.”

“Tell me about it.”

You do. It’s the one bit of information you’d known before and were actually interest in learning more of. So you tell her and she listens.

It’s one of the things you love about Lexa. You’ve never felt ignored when in the gaze of those green eyes. She cares, even when she’s so closed off, even when she was mean back when you were roommates and tried not to. She’s kind and she cares and you know that she has so much love to give. The woman who will receive it when Lexa allows herself that again will be the luckiest person in the world.

You’re fine with it not being you, you just want it to happen for her. You want her to be happy.

When you’re done, she makes you repeat what you just told her. She grabs your text-book and looks up the name of the other two caves and you repeat them, and then go over the information once more. You remember. You move onto your next finger with Art in Early Europe and Colonial Americas.

You know even less than you did the first time around, but Lexa keeps the textbook open in her lap and feeds you the information you’re missing with a calm, patient voice.

Stress trickles out of you with each passing moment. By the time you reach your pinky finger with Global Contemporary Art, you feel a lot more confident in what you know. Because you do know it. Now it’s not just floating around in your brain but actually grounded in your hand, like you can reach for the information whenever you need it.

“I wish I’d known this trick in high school,” you tell her.

“I used it in high school quite a bit,” Lexa says, and her cheeks tint red. There’s a story there, you’re sure.

“Sorry for keeping you here,” you say. You’re surprised to see the sky is darkening outside when you look out through the blinds “I’m sure you had stuff to do.”

“No, it’s fine. I wanted to see you. I mean. I thought I could help.”

“You really did,” you tell her, reaching across the sea of notebooks to squeeze her hand. She stares at it and the moment feels heavy, somehow. Charged.

The door swings open.

Octavia walks in, covered in sweat and dirt.

“Hey Lexa,” she says, trying -and failing- to hide her surprise. “…You been here all day?”

“She was helping me study,” you say, but your face feels warm. That first surprising touch of her fingers over yours is one you won’t forget any time soon. It’s fucking pathetic. “How did practice go?” You ask Octavia.

“My everything hurts but my butt looks amazing,” she says, matter-of-fact. “I’m going to take a shower.” She drops her bag against the wall, her soccer cleats hanging from it. She grabs her towel from the back of her desk and throws it over her shoulder. “Hey, I’m grabbing dinner with Lincoln later at the Cuban place. You coming?”

“Lexa?” you ask. You want her to come along, you always do -that hasn’t changed. It never occurred to you, not even once, to spend less time with her to get over your feelings. You don’t think you could.

“Sure,” she answer gently.

“Great,” you tell her, honest. You turn to Octavia. “We’ll be there.”

Octavia gives you a tired thumbs-up before disappearing into the bathroom, dragging her feet.

“I should go get changed,” Lexa says, and that she looks amazing already is on the tip of your tongue.

“Okay,” you answer instead. “I’ll swing by and get you when we’re leaving, yeah?” you tell her. She nods, and picks up her bag.

“Hey, Lexa!” you call out before she leaves.

“Thanks again,” you say. She nods, and you could swear her cheeks are tinted pink too.

.

You take a shower after Octavia is done. Your hands still feel the ghost memory of Lexa’s long, slender fingers trailing over yours, and metaphorically washing it off does nothing. And you’re dating someone, you guess, but kissing Finn doesn’t feel half as good as studying with Lexa. You’re so fucked.

“Clarke!” O knocks on the bathroom door. “I’m going to Lincoln’s building, call me when you and Lexa are ready!”

“Okay!” You call out. You step out of the shower a few minutes later, and hurry through drying your hair and picking an outfit so you can get to Lexa’s.

Walking up the stairs to her dorm room, you begin to think of how awkward it could possibly be if Finn is there, seeing you two going out. You have nothing to be nervous about, since you and Lexa are friends and it isn’t a date, but you still think about it right up until you knock on her door.

“Lexa?” You ask gently. “Lex?” You knock again. No one answers. You heart picks up speed, because it’s been more than hour and she’s supposed to be here.

“Lexa?” You try the handle but the door is locked from the inside. You knock again, but the room doesn’t have a bathroom, there’s nowhere she could be where she couldn’t hear you. You’re about to pull out your cell phone and call her when a faint sound comes from the other side of the door.

“Lexa?”

“I’m not going,” she says, and her voice sounds thin.

“Lexa, is everything okay?” You ask, swallowing dread. “Lexa, open the door.”

“I’m fine, Clarke,” she tells you, but she sounds anything voice. “I’m sorry. Just- just go.”

Not a chance.

“Lexa, open the door please,” you plead. Worry bites at the edges of your mind. It’s easy to forget how sad Lexa was when you first met, it’s so easy because she smiles a lot more these days and she talks to people and she seems happy, but she wasn’t always like that. “Lexa?” You ask again, laing your palm flat on the door. You crave the sight of her, you don’t like the separation, you don’t like the thought that something might be wrong.

You wait for what feels like forever until the sound of the lock clicks through the empty hallway.

You open the door slowly, and catch Lexa as she sits back down on her bed.

Her chair is turned over, and pens and books litter the floor next to her bare desk. As if she’d thrown everything in a fit of anger. But she doesn’t look angry, when your eyes trail over her face -half covered by her thick, lovely hair- she just looks terribly sad. Her cheeks are bright and wet, and you want nothing more than to take her pain away.

You approach her carefully, as if she was a wild animal with an arrow lodged on its side.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you ask, as you sit next to her. She’s holding that ring, Costia’s ring, so tight between her fingers the tips are white. She doesn’t answer you.

“Lexa?” you ask gently. She looks up at you. She looks anguished, and your heart splits right down the middle. She goes back to staring at the floor. She’s quiet for so long you think she’s not going to say anything at all. But then she speaks.

“It was my fault,” she says quietly, voice raw. You look at the ring again and know at once who she’s talking about.

“You told me it was a car accident,” you say. Lexa takes her time answering, and begins to turn the ring, the memento mori, over and over in her hand.

“She was drunk driving,” she says at last.

“Oh.” You don’t mean for the sound to leave your lips. And then you wonder about something that makes you sick. “Were you with her?” you ask Lexa, and God you hope she wasn’t.

“No.”

You breathe.

“Why do you think it was your fault?” you ask her, and you ache to touch her but you don’t, not yet. You want to offer comfort but you don’t know what she wants.

“I know it was my fault,” Lexa says firmly. “She was drinking because of me.”

You wait for her. She looks miles away, and when she speaks, is as if you’re not even there.

“After we broke up…I kept calling her, begged her to talk to me. And she finally picked up. She’d been drinking, and I… I didn’t realize what that meant. I should have realized.” She shakes her head, and her breathes comes faster. “I should have offered to pick her up. I should have told her to get a cab or-”

“Lexa, breathe.” You touch her knee gently. “You can tell me.”

“My mom caught us together,” she says, her wet green eyes meeting yours.Your stomach falls with dread. “They didn’t know I was…I wasn’t ever planning to tell them. I thought I could just grow up and move away with Costia and see them on holidays. They didn’t have to know.” She sounds deep in the belly of despair, and you tighten your fingers on her knee, desperate to offer any consolation you can.

“We’d been dating for 4 months...in secret, more or less. Only our closest friends knew. That day we were supposed to be doing homework but we got distracted, I didn't hear my mom come in. She caught us and my mom kicked her out. My mom…she was so angry. She’d never looked at me like that. She told my father even though I begged her not to. And he was…” She shakes her head, and two tears drip down from her cheeks at the same time. The back of your throat aches.

“Costia tried to talk to them, you know? She came over a few days later and my father insulted her.” Lexa visibly blanches, and you know she’s relieving everything. “He threatened her. And after that, one night, he and his friends went over to her house with baseball bats.” You gasp.

“They broke one of her windows. And this garden gnome that her mom really liked. They terrorized her family. Everyone at school found out about it. She broke up with me two days after that.” Lexa drags her hand down her reddened face, wiping away tears. You hold her hand once she’s done, because you can’t not do it. You grab her hand between yours and squeeze her fingers and she looks at you with something like gratitude.

“The accident was a couple of weeks afterward. She’d been drinking. The streets were wet. It had been raining. And I didn't even think about that. I called her and she picked up for the first time in weeks and I… She told me she was at a bar, and that she would call me when she got home, but I didn't think to ask how-”

“Lexa, that wasn't your fault,” you say firmly. A tears falls from your eye and you’re quick to wipe it away. She’s suffering, and it hurts you, it cuts you deep. “She was drinking.” You don’t want to sound callous, but you don't have someone as good as Lexa carrying the weight of something she wasn’t guilty of. (You’re a hypocrite, because you blamed yourself for Well’s death for the longest time.) “She…she chose to do that.”

“She was drinking because of me,” Lexa says, and her voice fails her at times, thick and wet as it sounds, it breaks so easily. She’s a spun glass girl in those moments, made of pain and guilt.

“Did she tell you that?” you ask Lexa gently.

She shakes her head no. “She said ‘the situation warranted drinks’.” Lexa’s mouth twists in a sad half-smile. “She teased me like that sometimes, you know? She said I spoke too formally.”

She seems carried away by the memory, but you bring her back to what she said.

“Lexa…the situation. Your father being a major asshole and scaring her. Not you. Never you.” Lexa is so good, and her love could never be a bad time, it could never do harm or bring pain. She’s the kind of girl people would follow into battle as much as they would go to war for, and you know you would. And you never met Costia, but you can’t believe she felt any differently.

“He wouldn't have if I hadn't-”

“Hadn’t what? Fallen in love with her? Dated her? You did nothing wrong.” You insist, but its like she’s not listening to you.

“I couldn’t sleep after she died. I couldn't eat, I couldn't breathe. Everything reminded me of her and I was…drowning.” She sounds like she’s drowning now, and you squeeze her fingers, a reminder that you’re there for her, than you can be a spot of safe land. “A few weeks after that my uncle Gus sat down with my parents and me and asked them to get me someone to talk to.”

You didn’t expect that, but you understand. You and your friends all saw the school therapist after Wells died. It helped immensely.

“My father...” Lexa shook her head, and new tears hit you in the arm. “He thought I was doing it for attention. He thought I needed to get slapped straight and taken to church.” You swallows down the red anger that bubbles up in your insides at the words. You’ve never hated someone you don’t know before, but this feels like it. “But my mom didn’t agree. She told me I was wrong, but that she wouldn’t hate me for it. She took me to see a therapist and it cost her her marriage.” Lexa turns to look at you. “They got a divorce because of me. My mom cried herself to sleep for months because of me. Costia is dead because of me. Because I wanted to be with her. Because I loved her. I was selfish. It was my fault.” Tears dry in her cheeks, and her voice gets stronger. It’s clear she believes what she’s saying and it breaks your heart.

“Getting hurt, Clarke. _That_ is what being with me _means_.” She looks straight into your eyes as she says it, and you feel like you’re going to throw up for one flash of a second. Neither of you have mentioned the boardwalk since it happened, but she knows. You know she knows and it doesn’t matter, nothing matters but her. She lets go of your hand.

“Lexa, no. It wasn’t your fault. Blame your father for being such a fuckwit, blame whoever served Costia alcohol without checking for an ID, blame God if you want, but don't blame yourself.” She looks away. You grab her cheek and make her look at you.

“Listen to me. You remember my friend Wells?” you ask, and she nods, a frown forming between her eyes in confusion. You haven’t talked about it in months, but you’ll do it now. You close your eyes for a second, and even now you can remember so clearly that day, if it wasn’t for Lexa’s cheek under your hand and the smell of her room you could be back there.

“Octavia had soccer practice after school,” you begin telling Lexa. “I had nothing to do so I stayed with her. She was good, she still is.” You tell Lexa, nodding, and it is she now who covers your hand with her own. But this is for her. “When she got out, it was raining and we didn't want to get wet. It was my idea to call Wells. He’d just gotten his license, and his dad bought him a car. So I asked him to come pick us up. He said he would, and Raven got on the car with him.” You swallow the lump in your throat. “And on their way to school a drunk driver ran them off the road,” you say simply, shrugging with a levity you don’t really feel. The familiar heaviness drapes around your soul when you remember the panic you felt when they wouldn’t answer their cell phones. How you took the bus home, how you ran and saw the police cars outside of Well’s house.

“Wells was killed on impact and Raven lost feeling in her leg.”

Lexa gasps softly, but you hold her face with both hands before she can speak.

“Lexa, I need you to tell me if it was my fault,” you say. Your heart beats hard in your chest and your lungs ache, even now, after all this time, you still wonder. And a word from her could destroy you.

“No,” she says firmly.

“Why not?” you ask her. Partly pleading with her to tell you, and partly wanting her to realize.

“It was an accident,” she says. “You didn’t know what would happen.”

“It took me...ages, to accept that,” you confess to her. “I felt so guilty for so long. I thought I’d killed my best friend.” You let go of Lexa’s face and sit back, wiping your cheeks. “And then I realized that I couldn't change what happened. That it wasn’t my fault because I didn't know that something would happen. I didn't pull a trigger. I was just a kid and I didn't want to get wet from the rain.” You chuckle wetly. You return your hands to either one of her cheeks, gently holding her. Your thumbs wipe away her tears. “I didn't know, Lexa. And you didn't know either. It wasn’t your fault.”

You kiss her cheek a split second before a sob leaves her lips. She cries, sinking into your arms.

You don't know how to say that her father is a piece of shit. You don't know how to get her to understand that Costia’s death isn't on her and her family breaking apart isn’t on her and that she doesn’t deserve to suffer for either of those. You don't get to change her her mind or protect her from her demons and a world that doesn't deserve her.

You just hold her.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quite a lot happened this chapter. Clarke decided to break Lexa's usual pattern even when it wasn't on her to do it (lbr she's weak af for Lexa). Lexa was super helpful with Clarke's studies. (That is an actual memory tactic btw, it works!) We now know what happened to Costia, the last piece of the puzzle of what makes Lexa the way she is. I can't wait to hear what you thought!
> 
> p.d: So last night was the S3 finale. Last time we saw Lexa on screen. My beautiful, lovely readers, I hope you're well. I was in a really dark place the first time around, and I'd hate for anyone to feel the same. If you're feeling down please don't hesitate to send me a message [here](http://reyandsmoak.tumblr.com/ask). We can chat, and I'm always game for answering asks about this verse. I'm accepting prompts rn too, anything at all you may like or that might cheer you up. We're in this together, Clexakru. x


	18. april, part one

Lexa Woods is a dangerous creature.

You’ve known this for a while now, probably since you met her, but you’ve never felt it more keenly than with her exhausted and cried out, dozing in your arms. Her face is pale but her cheeks are red and bright, shining with tears, and you’ve never felt as trusted as you do now. Not when you were small and your dad let you take over making dinner, or when Bellamy talked to you first about his sexuality, or when Raven had a pregnancy scare and asked you to buy her a test.

You’ve never felt trust handed to you like a physical, fragile thing.

But every tear Lexa shed tonight was that and more, and your chest wants to burst open at the admission that she trusts you enough to fall apart in your arms, and even more, to fall asleep. It’s an aching vulnerability that you’ve seldom seen in people, except maybe in Well’s father after his funeral. It looks like someone who has lost their world and still tries to rebuild from scratch.

You let her slip down gently until her head is resting on her pillow. You stand up, your back protesting against the movement. You take off her shoes without waking her, and unfurl the blanket on the bottom of her bed, covering her sleeping form with it. You sit down at her side on the bed, and your hand moves to her cheek of its own volition, brushing away the tendrils of wavy brown her stuck to her forehead. 

“Clarke?” she croaks out softly, but doesn’t open her eyes. 

“Shhh.” You brush your thumb over her cheek, and it doesn’t feel like too much. She relaxes even further into the mattress. “I’m going back to my room, is that okay?” 

She nods a little, and after a few minutes her breath evens out. You force yourself to stand up then, because if you stay a second longer all the affection you have for her will begin spilling out of you, and that flood will take you with it. You’ll drown. 

You turn back to her before you leave the room, take one last look at the peace reflected in her sleeping face, the pure beauty even with swollen eyes and tear-stained cheeks.

 Anyone would fall to pieces in front of an image like that, and you might have already fallen. 

. 

You knock gently on the door, and a moment later it’s opened by a disheveled Finn, hair standing every which way. You contain a small smile. 

“Good morning,” you sing-song. 

“Clarke, hey.” He runs his hand through his hair and only manages to mess it up further. 

“Hey, is Lexa awake?” you ask. 

“Huh, no. She’s still asleep,” he answers, and you feel a little guilty that she was the sole reason you came over. “We’re still on for tonight, right?” Finn asks. 

“Yeah, of course,” you say, nodding. “Hey, I’m going to go grab breakfast now, sorry about waking you.” 

“It’s fine.” He looks you up and down in a way that makes you blush with pleasure. “You’re not the worst sight to see first thing in the morning, princess.” 

.

 The thick, oddly pink batter pours down into the waffle maker. You already dread the few minutes you’ll have to wait until your cocktail of sugar and bad nutritional decisions is done cooking.

You take the time to look around the dining hall, searching out the obvious hangover cases, one of Raven’s favorite games. The dark glasses inside usually give people away, but a stack of the greasiest bacon also does the trick. You would know. It’s been quite a while since it’s been you though, quite a while in fact since you’ve gone out partying, a month more or less, and you find you don’t exactly miss it. 

A gentle touch of fingertips at your waist makes you turn around, and you’re left looking at the reason why. 

“Hey, Lexa.” You breathe out. You throw your arms around in a quick, tight hug, and then step away, falling back into rubbing up and down her arms. She’s wearing a dark gray sweater to ward off the chill of the morning, and her eyes are still a little swollen, and it would be weird to hug her again so you don’t. “I went by your room earlier but you were still asleep.” 

She flinches at the mention of last night, and pulls her sweater over her hands.

“About last night, Clarke I…I’m so-” 

“Thank you for trusting me,” you say, interrupting her. You never want her to apologize for feeling, for letting go of the tight grip she has on her emotions. For letting you in. You offer her a smile, and squeeze her hand. “Thank you for letting me be there for you.” 

She blinks, and you get the feeling that she doesn’t know what to say. You don’t push her, instead turn around and get your waffle on a plate. 

“Would you like one?” you ask her, and she shakes her head. You feel this side of self-conscious at the way she’s looking at you. Like she’s seeing you, and you remember what she said last night, about what being with her meant. She knows you have feelings for her, she knows you want that. 

The way she’s looking at you makes the sad, wounded animal that is hope twist around in your chest. 

“Thank you for everything,” Lexa says shyly. And you don’t need anything from her that she doesn’t want to give, not when she looks at you like that and finally accepts kindness like something she deserves because she does, God, she does. 

“You big dummy, you have nothing to thank me for.” You kiss her cheek on a whim. “You should get a waffle. Their bland ass Oatmeal is no way to live.” 

. 

The park you and Finn walk to is close enough to campus that you don’t regret your two inch heels, but far enough away that it still feels like going out. 

The end of the night finds you in a corner next to a deserted playground, bodies huddled together on the uncomfortable wooden bench. You live with your two best friends and Finn rooms with Lexa and so your options are limited, and you’re glad in a way.

Finn is eager and warm and tastes vaguely of the coffee you just had, and it’s pleasant, it is, but when his hand sneaks inside your jacket to cup your breast you pull away. 

“We should go back to campus,” you gasp out, and your chest heaves up and down as you catch your breath. 

“Why?” Finn keeps kissing you, his lips trailing down your neck now. “I thought we were having fun. 

“It’s late,” you say. It doesn’t feel right, the entire thing, not anymore. When he moves his hand again you grab his wrist to stop him. “Finn,” you say firmly, in warning. You don’t like the spike of discomfort in your chest. 

He pulls away from you, and after a look at your face steps away completely, disentangling his hand from your hair. “Yeah, okay.” 

You have no qualms about doing things for fun, but it wouldn’t have been fun, not with Lexa on your head the whole time. Every touch felt from the wrong hand, every kiss from the wrong lips, and you’re not going to turn your body into a commodity for someone else to enjoy. 

Finn doesn’t try to hold your hand on your way back to campus. 

. 

“What are those?” Lexa asks, sitting down in front of you in the college dining hall. Her tray is sensibly loaded up with a bowl of soup and a plate with bread and cheese and what looks like steamed vegetables, that you have no idea where she got. 

You look at your own plate and answer her question. 

“Fried mac-and-cheese balls?” You take a bite, the cheesy goodness exploding in your mouth. You nearly moan. Lexa scrunches up her face, tearing off a piece of bread. “Hey, don’t hate.” 

“That can’t be healthy,” she says. 

“It tastes like a heart attack actually, you should try it,” you tell her. 

“No, thank you. I think I’d like to live to see graduation.” She laughs. She does that a lot more often now, almost like there’s a weight off her shoulders, and you’re thankful if that night a few days ago is the reason. Lexa laughs with with her hand on her chest, throwing her head back and exposing the delicate line of her throat. There’s so much trust in a single act of joy you don’t know what to do with it. 

Lexa laughs with her eyes closed. 

The sound makes something go off inside of you, and you look at her, really look at her. 

You’re in awe of Lexa, and it’s not just her beauty, or her intelligence, but her resilience. You know what she’s been through now, what she grew up with, and what’s happened to her and how she blames herself for it, and she still laughs at your stupid ass jokes. You don’t notice the smile that stretches your lips as your eyes follow her. By now it’s second nature. 

“What?” she asks. She brushes her hair behind her ear, self-conscious. 

“Nothing,” you say softly. 

.

 Lexa falls asleep halfway through the movie. 

It was assigned by one of her professors, and you offered to watch it with her, even showed up on time, arms laden with junk food (feeling like you were setting right one of the first things you did wrong.) Octavia won’t walk through the door and tell you you don’t have to live with Lexa. Lexa won’t hear an insult and take it. 

She’ll just fall asleep after an hour of a young Ryan Gosling trying to send Hannibal to prison. 

Her head drops down to her chest, and the laptop wobbles where it rests on top of her thighs when she curls in on herself slightly. Lexa looks so at ease when she sleeps. It’s a privilege you’ve been given getting to witness it, as opposed to when you were roommates and she had no choice, and you’re thankful. 

You’re still wrapping your head around everything she told you the other night, about Costia and her parents, and the more you think about it the more it surprises you what a truly amazing person she turned out to be. 

You don’t know who you’d be if your parents didn’t have your back in everything. You specially can’t imagine your life if they didn’t approve of your sexuality. It’s so intrinsically tied into who you are that their rejection would have torn you apart until you’d learned to live with it, yet your relationship would have never been what it could. You’ve taken the support they’ve always given you for granted, and hearing about Lexa’s parents puts it into perspective. You’ve never been more thankful for the mom and dad you have. And you’ve never been more determined to protect someone as good as Lexa.

You think about Costia, you try to imagine the face of a girl you don’t know, a girl who meant so much to Lexa she still carries her memory around in the form of a ring. You heard the story, but you don’t think you’ll ever fully understand her father’s actions, nor do you want to, since that kind of hate sounds poisonous (how did Lexa grow up with that?). 

You know how it happened but you’ll never know why Costia got into an accident and died and left Lexa destroyed, and maybe there’s no real reason. And you know Lexa blames herself, and you know why, and you can only hope that one day you’ll get to talk more about it, and she’ll let you tell her it’s not her fault until she believes it. You don’t know if she ever will. 

All you’re sure of is that you’re proud of Lexa, and maybe one day you’ll tell her. 

You barely crawled out of the hole Well’s death put you in, and you had people all around you helping you through it -you all helped each other. You can’t imagine Lexa suffering by herself. (Except you can, you remember the very first day you met her, the way she jumped up in bed with tear stained cheeks, and you can. You feel so damn sorry.) 

Lexa sighs in her sleeps, smacking her full lips together before sinking further down into the mattress. She’s lovely and sweet and strong, and you have to keep your hands to yourself, fight against the impulse to do something stupid like touch her cheek to see if she’s real. 

You went on a date with Finn two days ago, he sat with his arm around your shoulders, you kissed him. And yet none of that made you feel even a fraction of what you feel simply sitting next to Lexa. 

Her breath makes a strand of hair fly away and you reach up to gently push it away from her face. 

“Now I guess I know why you didn’t want anything happening between us.” 

Your entire body jumps at the voice coming from the door way. 

“Finn.” You don’t know why you sound the way you do, why your heart beats fast and you feel like you’ve been caught red handed. “She -she’s my friend,” you say, gingerly getting out of bed. Lexa doesn’t wake. 

“I don’t know why I get the feeling you don’t want just that,” he says, and he sounds like he’s accusing you of something. You went on a few dates but you were never official, and you feel a rush of protectiveness for what you feel for Lexa. Before you can say anything, though, he keeps talking. “Look, I’m not mad. I just really like you Clarke, I wish you'd never let me think I stood a chance.” You feel like a butterfly pinned to a board, with every word it becomes clearer that Finn has got you down. “I don't, I can see that I don’t. Not against her. Its fine.” 

“I’m sorry,” you say, and you’re not. You could never be, but you don’t know what else to say. “I like you, Finn. I wasn’t -” using you. But you were. 

“You should tell her,” he says, and he seems resigned to a faith you didn’t even have a clue he knew about. He’s seen you with Lexa only a handful times. Were you that obvious? “She lights up when you call.” He shrugs, and your heart lurches in your chest. “One for the road?” he asks, and you nod, still dumbfounded and buzzing with both guilt and hope. 

Finn kisses the corner of your mouth before hugging you, and you don’t expect the little pang of hurt that you feel upon realizing it’s the last time. You return the embrace, and you hope he can’t feel how hard your heart is beating, at the mere thought that Lexa might light up because of you. 

“No time like the present, princess,” he whispers in your ear. “She’s awake.” He wastes no time in leaving after that, and you don’t have time to feel bad about kicking him from his own room because Lexa is awake, and you’re nervous. 

She sits up in bed, cheeks pink and pushes her laptop aside. 

“How much of that did you hear?” Your voice sounds about as strong as you feel. 

“Oh? Nothing.” Relief floods you. “I just woke up and you were, you know…” 

“We called things off,” you tell her. You want her to know, and you know why you want her to know. Hope, hope, hope. 

“Oh.” 

You shrug it off. 

“I’d say we broke up but we never actually got together.” You sit back down on the bed. ”It’s for the best.” 

“Are you…are you okay?” she asks. You actually think about it, and while you’ll miss Finn -who distracted you and made you laugh- it was never something to feel anything about. 

“Yeah, it’s fine,” you tell Lexa. “You should go back to sleep,” you suggest, nudging her laptop shut. “We can finish watching Hannibal get away with murder some other day.” Lexa frowns at you, but doesn’t argue your shoddy description of the movie. She looks amused. And then you think of Finn’s words. ‘She lights up when you call’. You want that to be true so keenly. “I should go back to my dorm.” 

Ask me to stay, please ask me to stay. Please say it’s late and it’s a long walk by myself. Please tell me it was fear that made you push me away before. Let me know Finn was right. Hope doesn’t die easy. 

“Okay,” Lexa says. “Night, Clarke.” 

Maybe it should learn how to. 

“Good night, Lexa.”

. 

You wake up with your sheets tangled in your feet. It’s too hot inside the room, and it might make you a hypocrite but you almost miss the cold, you hate feeling sticky and uncomfortable for no good reason. You groan at the voices coming from Raven’s bed. 

“Sleeping beauty is up,” Raven says, and you groan again, rolling over to face them from your bed. They are sprawled out on Raven’s bed, a laptop open in front of them. You look around your mattress and fish your cell-phone from between the sheets, thankful that it hasn’t fallen the five feet between your loft bed and the ground. You take a look at the screen and groan again.

 “It’s nine am, what are you doing here?” you ask. 

“Class was canceled,” Raven says. 

“Coach is sick,” Octavia follows up. “So, now that you’re awake, what do you think about Humans vs Zombies?” 

“What?” 

“Are you going to play?” 

“Oh.” It takes your tired brain a few moments to remember what she’s talking about, and you have no excuse not to. Octavia has been excited about the campus wide game since the upperclassmen announced it after Spring Break, and you always knew that you and Raven would get roped into playing with her. 

It sounds interesting, at the very least, a pleasant distraction. 

“Yeah. I guess. But you know my dad’s birthday is next weekend, how long does that game even last?” 

“A few days. A few weeks. It could go on until we graduate,” Octavia says. 

“No, it couldn’t,” Raven replies. “It’s just a week long.” 

“It should. It’s the most fun we’ve had around here the whole year,” Octavia argues. You neglect to remind her you spent an entire week camping and surviving off junk food during Spring Break, but you can see the appeal of the game. 

O had explained it to you at length before, but all you can recall now is that you start playing in the ‘human team’ and have to avoid getting turned, but if you do get turned, you become a member of the ‘zombie team’ and have to try and get everyone to turn. You probably should have started watching Fear The Walking Dead like you meant to. 

“You do know you’re not allowed to use whatever you’ve learned at Indra’s, right?” Raven asks Octavia. “There’s a reason you shoot socks at people.” 

“Details. We could make a big team. We’d be unstoppable. Clarke, you could ask Finn, too, and Lexa.” 

At the mention of Finn last night comes back, and you feel just a little bad for having forgotten so quickly. 

“Finn and I are done.” 

“Oh.” 

You shrug, and then remember they can’t actually see you. 

“Wasn’t fair to him,” you say. 

“So it didn’t work? You’re still hung up on Lexa?” Raven asks. 

You give her affirmative mumble and roll around in your bed, sinking your face against your pillow. 

“You’ve heard of ‘girl has feelings for her straight friend’, now get ready for ‘girl has feelings for her lesbian friend who is emotionally unavailable’,” O says with a broadcaster’s voice. It’s a little sad and very much true, and it makes you smile. But you don’t tell her how it feels so much heavier and solid than just feelings. 

“You okay?” O asks. 

“Yeah, I’m okay.” 

“So…you still playing?” 

“Oh my fucking God, Octavia.” You laugh. 

.

 Raven and Octavia don’t show up for lunch with you. They don’t text you excuses, either, and you wouldn’t think anything of it if you hadn’t told them about you and Finn. Your friends mean well, you know they do, but they also think that you and Lexa are destined to get a gay fairytale and you know it’s a lot simpler than that. 

(At least, you were sure of it before. Now you second-guess every look Lexa sends your way, and you wonder if you’re seeing what you want to see. Once you’ve opened yourself up to the possibility, you’re seeing heart-eyes everywhere, and your heart is confused.) 

“Clarke, are you well?” Lexa asks. 

“Huh?” You shake your head to clear it. “Yeah.” 

“You’re not eating,” she points out. 

“I’m not hungry,” you tell her. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” 

“Yes, Lex, I’m fine.” You smile, amused.

“So you’re not upset? About Finn?” 

You shake your head, nothing could be further from the truth. 

“It wasn’t like that between us,” you say honestly. 

“Like what?” Lexa asks. 

“Like it meant something. It didn't.” It’s harsh, but it’s true. You never promised him anything, just went on a few dates and then let him down. 

Lexa nods. “I just…I’m here for you,” she offers gently. “You let me cry on you the other day so-" 

“You don’t owe me anything, Lexa,” you tell her firmly, and one of these days you’ll get this girl to let you do things for her without keeping tally. “I have an art history test coming up if you’d like to help me study though,” you say. “I’ll make you dinner. And by make you dinner I mean drive to get takeout.” 

Lexa smiles at the prospect of some good samosas and you know you’ve got her. 

.

 Lexa's sweet laughter carries over into the corrider. She's not alone in her room, and through the hal open door you can see her laying down on her bed, the blond woman you've seen around her a few time pinching her side. Anya. You've never seen Lexa acting like this with anyone, and it's quite a sight. She's laughing and happy but more importantly, there are no barriers. No walls. She’s beautiful. 

They look up when you open the door further, and you wish you hadn't. 

“Hey,” you say softly, quietly. It feels like you’re intruding. 

“Clarke,” Lexa seems to breathe out your name, and you’ve never loved it more than when it sounds like that from her lips. She smiles wide, and you find yourself mirroring it. Anya clears her throat next to her, and Lexa blushes prettily. “Ah, Clarke, this is my cousin, Anya.” 

“The famous Clarke Griffin, at last,” Anya says, getting up from the bed and eyeing you up and down. She extends her hand to you. “Anya Woods.” 

You shake it, and her grip as strong as you expected. 

“Famous?” you ask, and your stomach flutters at the thought that Lexa might have mentioned you to her family. 

“My little cousin used to talk a lot about you back when you were roommates,” Anya says, and your mood deflates a little. Almost nothing good happened between you and Lexa back then, only months of senseless fighting and pushing each other’s buttons. You regret it. 

“I like to think I’m a better person than I was back then,” you tell Anya, and sneak an apologetic at Lexa. She’s not looking at you. 

“I’d hope so,” Anya says, and you’re not sure how, but you feel like she’s threatening you with those simple words. Then again, she looks like the kind of girl who could sharpen any letter into a knife. “I’ll be leaving you then, happy studying.” She turns around. “Lexa.” 

You don’t see Anya’s face, but Lexa nods. 

“She’s….” You try to find an appropriate word once Anya closes the door after herself, but you don’t think there’s one. 

“She likes making people scared of her,” Lexa lets you know, smiling at the takeout bag in your hand. 

“We all have hobbies,” you say. Lexa snorts at your words, and the sound makes you laugh yourself. She ignores your teasing in favor of eagerly going through the cardboard boxes you brought. She even pulls together a plate for you. 

“I’m not really hungry, Lex,” you let her know, but take it nonetheless. Your stomach has been bothering you all afternoon, in a muted sort of way, and just now you realize the idea of eating makes you queasy. 

“Are you okay?” Lexa asks, touching your arm, and you feel her warmth even through your sweater. 

“Yes, I'm fine.”

.

It's five am. You wake up flushed and sweaty and a quick peek to your cell lets you know the ungodly time it is, and twisting around makes painfully obvious the whole reason you’re awake. Your stomach is killing you. 

You groan as you curl in on yourself because getting cramps never gets easier. 

You manage to drag yourself out of bed and down the wooden stairs, and mercifully find some pain medication before climbing back up and hoping to fall back asleep. You don’t, it hurts enough to keep you awake, but not enough to keep you alert. You float in a state of drowsiness and discomfort until the sun comes up.

You vaguely notice when Raven and Octavia wake up and get showered and dressed, and you decide right then there’s no way you can do the same. 

You whimper.

“Clarke? You okay?” Octavia asks, peering up at you. 

“The cramps from hell are killing me,” you manage to groan. 

“Shit. You want some Midol?” she offers. 

“Already took some.” It isn’t usually this bad, you’ve gotten cramps right before your period before but they’ve never hurt like this. You feel nauseous. 

“Hey, should I go ahead and save us a table?” Raven asks as she walks out of the bathroom. 

“Clarke’s uterus is self-destroying,” O says. “I don’t think she’s coming.” 

Raven’s brow twists in sympathy. “I have booze,” she offers. 

“Want to throw up,” you mumble. 

“That bad? Ugh, sorry. You take something?” 

You nod. 

Octavia rubs her hand up and down your calf. “We’ll check on you after class, okay?” You nod again. “Stay strong, Griffin.”

 

You press your forehead against the cool tiles of the bathroom floor. You couldn’t handle another second in the bed, and somehow managed to climb down the stairs without killing yourself. It hurts so badly you’re dizzy with it. 

You don’t even care about how you share a bathroom with three strangers from the next room and how unsanitary it is to press your face against the floor. It’s a brief respite from misery and you’re getting it, damn it. But the relief it offers doesn’t last very long. The pain in your stomach seems to intensify, and you want to puke all over again. 

“Clarke?” The muffled voice comes from somewhere outside the bathroom, maybe from the hallway. You can’t make out all the words but trying offers a brief distraction from the feeling that your insides are being scooped out with a rusty spoon. “…weren’t feeling well…” You groan. Understatement. “…can I do something?…Clarke?” 

The voice stops and you’re thrust back into the red hot pain on your side. 

“Clarke?! What’s wrong?!” Lexa is suddenly on her knees at your side, pushing your hair away from your face. 

If you weren’t so out of it you’d have recognized her voice, or heard the door open. 

“Clarke, please.” Her hand feels cool against your cheek. It’s nice. 

You throw up. 

You didn’t have it in you to reach the toilet, and only managed to move forward and stick your head in the shower. 

Lexa pulls your hair away from your face and you would feel embarrassed she’s watching you retch up bile if the air on the nape of your neck didn’t feel so good.  You spit once you're done, and Lexa gets up. You miss her for a second, but then she’s back, pushing a few paper towels in your hands. You blow your nose and wipe your mouth, and spit out the horrid taste again. 

“Do you feel better?” she asks, and you shake your head. You no longer feel as nauseated, but the pain hasn’t stopped. If anything, it’s become worse. It’s sharp and stinging and glowing from the lower right corner of your stomach. And that’s when you realize what that means. Not cramps at all. 

“Get me my cell-phone,” you ask Lexa, and you’re shocked at how scared she looks. She looks quickly to the room and back at you, like she’s debating whether to leave you. “Please.” 

She nods and hurries to the room, and she’s back in less than a second, right there in the floor with you. 

You dial the number quickly, and it only rings twice before she answers. Perks of not calling as often as you should. 

“Clarke?” 

“Mom?” 

“Honey, what’s wrong?” She sounds alarmed right away, and you realize your voice reflects exactly how you feel. 

“I think I have appendicitis,” you tell her. Lexa’s eyebrows shoot up, and her hands stay static in mid-air at either side of you, like she doesn’t know what to do. 

“What are your symptoms baby?” she asks right away, and you can hear it, how she pushes away her motherly concern and lets the doctor speak. 

“Excruciating pain in the lower right abdomen, kind of want to throw up and die.” 

“Rebound pain?” 

You sink the pads of your fingers gently against your stomach and gasp at the hot flash of pain when you release the pressure. 

“Yes,” you tell your mom.

“Who is with you? Are your friends there? Has the school called an ambulance?” 

“Lexa. She’s going to drive me?” You look at Lexa while you tell your mom that, framing it as a question. You have your father’s keys in your bag. An ambulance would take longer. Lexa nods. 

“Okay, good,” you mom says. 

“Yeah, I’m going to throw up now.” 

“Put Lexa on the phone baby.” You push the cell phone into Lexa’s hands as you kneel over the shower step, anticipating another bout of sickness. Lexa kneels behind you, and you feel the weight of her hand against your back. You can hear your mom on the phone. 

“Hello, this is Clarke’s mom. Do you know where Sibley memorial is?” 

“I- I think so. Sibley Memorial.” 

“Yes, go there. if they make you wait ask for Dr. Gonzales, she’s a friend of mine.” 

“Okay.” 

“Lexa, does Clarke have a fever?” 

You’re not sure when you closed your eyes, but suddenly Lexa’s blessedly cool hand touches your forehead. 

“Yes, she’s -she’s burning up.” Lexa sounds alarmed, and you want to twist around and tell her you’ll be fine, but the pain keeps you rooted to the spot.

“It’s fine, I need you to be calm and be there for her, okay? Don’t panic. It’ll be fine. Lexa?” 

“Yes.” 

“Okay. Call me when you get there, her dad and I are on our way.” 

What follows are probably the worst few minutes of your life. Lexa finds your dad’s keys and pulls a hoodie over your tank top. Getting up from the floor feels like you’ve left some of your internal organs there, and every steps rips them further away. 

Lexa carries most of your weight as you walk, doubled over, toward the parking lot. Campus is nearly deserted, but no one approaches you to ask what you’re doing walking around still on your pajamas. 

You’ve never passed out in your life, but with every step it seems more and more likely. 

“The car is just a little further away, come on,” Lexa encourages you, holding you together to her side, but your feet drag. 

“I can’t, I can’t.” You whimper. You just need to kneel down for a little while, maybe press your forehead to the cool floor. 

“Clarke, come on. We’re almost there.” She brushes your hair away from your sticky forehead. 

“No,” you moan, trying to curl up on yourself further. Lexa stops trying to make you walk. 

The sudden change of angle confuses you, as does the blaze of pain, until you realize Lexa has picked you up. You let your head drop to her shoulder. Every jostling step sends a new flare of pain up your side. 

It seems to take forever, though it couldn’t have been more than a minute or two. 

“I’m going to put you down to open the door, okay?” Lexa asks, out of breath. 

You nod, and close your eyes tightly when your feet collide with the pavement. 

Lexa opens the door and you climb inside with her help. She puts on your seatbelt, leaning across your body to get it secured. 

“Clarke?” she asks, her hands on either side of your face, making you look at her. 

“I’m okay,” you tell her. 

You’re on the road in no time. 

Lexa drives faster than you’ve ever seen her, nothing like her measured, smooth driving while she gave you a ride to Assateague. She runs a red light. You groan when she goes over a road bump, and her right hand leaves the steering while to find yours. She doesn’t let go until you get to the hospital.

  

“When did the symptoms start?” The doctor looks so young you think he can’t be out of residency yet.

“It only hurt this bad this morning,” you say. 

“She lost her appetite all day yesterday,” Lexa says. She stands next to the stretcher, and you feel oddly protected.

“Is there a chance you might be pregnant?” the doctor asks. 

“What? No.” You can’t even remember the last time you had sex. 

“Have you had an urinary tract infection recently?” 

“No.” 

“I’m going to conduct an abdominal examination, all right?” he asks, and yeah. You don’t think he’s a day out of his residency. He lifts up your tank top, and Lexa bristles up next to you, as if in warning. 

You thought it couldn’t hurt worse, but the good doctor proved you wrong. " _Fuck_." 

“I don’t think we’ll need a CT scan to confirm,” he says, and you want to punch the slight amused smile off his damn face. 

“No shit, Sherlock,” you say. 

“I’ll ask for the surgeon on call,” he says, sobering up, and leaves the room. 

“Clarke.” Lexa’s free hand hovers over your belly, and then settles down on your shoulder. 

“I’m- oh fuck it hurts. Fuck, fuckity fuck, motherfucker.” Lexa’s eyes widen, but she smiles a little.  

“I called your parents went we came in, they were almost here.” 

“Okay,” you say. You feel overheated and out of breath, and only one thing has made you feel better since this whole thing started. “Can you-” You hold her hand to your forehead, and she gets the idea. She presses her palm gently to your forehead first, and then to your cheek. You’re sweaty and in pain and burning up with a fever, and Lexa’s hand feels like a balm. 

“That feels nice,” you say, smiling. 

Her thumb rubs softly the apple of your cheek and you sigh, even as it feels like a freaking screwdriver is being pushed and twisted into your stomach. Your eyes close, and it surprises you when you feel her fingers in yours. She’s holding your hand. Her thumb doesn't stop caressing your cheek. If it wasn't for the pain splitting you open, you'd be content to stay right here forever. 

“Clarke?” 

Lexa jumps away from you and you open your eyes, alarmed. 

“Mom? Dad?” You want to cry. The relief you get when you see your parents walk hasn't changed since you were a little girl and scrapped your knee. 

“Clarke.” Your mom hurries to your side and kisses your forehead. 

“Hey, bug,” your dad says in greeting, brushing your sweaty hair away from your face. 

The doctor comes back inside, and your mom doesn’t give him time to breathe. 

“Dr.Abigail Griffin, I’m chief of Cardiothoracic Surgery at Bridgepoint. I’m Clarke’s mother.” You and your dad share a small smile at your mom’s tone, before the pain in your gut makes you double over again. 

“Dr.Griffin. I- I was just about to start an IV.” 

“Who’s on call in surgery? They’ll be doing it with a laparoscopy, right?” You tune out. You took all the necessary classes in high-school to get into med school, and you know what she’s talking about, but you feel too lightheaded with pain to pay attention as to how they’re taking your bitch of an appendix out. All that matters is that they do. 

A large hand covers your forehead, and you recognize your dad’s familiar callouses a second before he speaks. 

“How are you feeling?” 

“Like absolute shit,” you say honestly, and another wave of nausea hits you. You try to curl up as small as your body will allow, and you feel needy in a way that’s uncharacteristic of you. Miserable tears begins falling down your cheeks and you can’t stop them. 

“Lexa?” you ask softly. 

“I’m here,” she says, and for the first time since your parents walked in she takes a step forward, back at your bedside, but she doesn't hold your hand again. 

“I’m dying,” you complain. 

“Don’t say that,” she says sharply. You open your eyes to meet her gorgeous ones. Her brow is furrowed and a sheen of tears makes her eyes bright. 

And then you remember, Costia. 

“Fuck, shit. I’m sorry, I’m fine.” 

“Yes, you’re going to be fine.” Her fingers sneak in between yours again, she squeezes your hand tight. The feeling grounds you, makes you feel like you’re not just drowning in pain. Your dad rubs his thumb on your forehead and Lexa is standing so close to him their shoulders are touching and they’re focused on you. You can hear your mom talking to the nurse behind you and like this? With so many people you love in the same room? You feel like you could withstand anything. 

“Clarke, they need to put in an IV,” your mom tells you, squeezing your shoulder gently. 

After they do, you don’t remember much of anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter where quite a few things happened. The last of Lexa's walls fell down. Clarke's brief time with Finn is over and proved unsuccesful in helping her get over Lexa. She starts to think she might not have to do that at all (but she's not sure). Clarke meets Anya. Clarke meets an inflamed appendix. Lexa takes the cake for best improptu nurse (and for picking Clarke up wtf that's so extra). If you noticed Clarke's slip let me know in a comment. 
> 
> And we only have 6 chapters to go. (I wasn't kidding when I tagged this as 'slow-burn'.) If you're enjoying this fic leave me a comment or some kudos, they're greatly appreciated!


	19. april, part two

You wake up to what feels like fire burning up your belly.  A cold hand touches your forehead, and you open your eyes, everything coming into sharp focus as you remember. You groan.

“Mom?”

“Hi, baby. How are you feeling?”

You swallow, and your throat feels like sand paper.

“Like someone ran me over,” you say. You look around the brightly lit room. “Where’s…”

“Your dad took Lexa to the cafeteria,” your mom answers before you can finish. Truthfully, you don’t know which one of them you were going to ask about.

“So, what’s the verdict?” you ask, trying to pull yourself up on the bed. Your mom presses a button and the bed raises a little.

“They’re letting you out tomorrow. Three to five days of rest before you can get back to your normal activities,” she recites. You snort. Going up the stairs is the most activity you do. “Don’t laugh, Clarke. The inflammation was severe, it could have burst-”

“It didn't.”

She sighs, not exasperated solely because you're in hospital.

“You’re coming home with dad and me, okay?” your mom says, adjusting your pillow. She’s fidgeting, and you know that means she was worried. Your mom hates not being able to do anything to help. This must have terrified her. “We’ll cook for you,” she promises, “you’ll get to boss us around from your bed.”

“You’ll cook?” you ask, raising an eyebrow as best as you can. 

“I’ll help your dad,” she concedes. She takes a long look at you, and then squeezes your hand. “I’m so relieved you’re okay, honey.”

You accept the comfort. It's been a while since you've been this close to your mom. The last time was probably when you had the flu right before the great college debate of 2015, and it's nice. You like it. 

“Clarke, you’re awake.” 

“Daddy.” Twisting around makes you gasp in pain.

“Shh, don’t move too much.” He’s at your side in a second, pressing a kiss to your forehead. He smiles softly at you, and you just -you really love your parents. “How are you feeling, baby?”

“Like crap,” you say.

“You don’t look much better, either,” he jokes, and you try to look insulted. “What do you think, Lexa?” 

She’s so quiet you hadn’t noticed her, but Lexa stands at the door, one foot inside the room and one outside, as if she didn’t want to intrude. You’re so overcome with want at the sight of her. You want her by your side, you don’t think you’ve ever wished for anything more.

“Lexa,” you say softly. Even from your spot on the hospital bed you notice her eyes eyes are rimmed with red.

“Your friends are going crazy,” she says.

“Fuck, I didn’t call them.”

“I did,” Lexa says. “They’re on their way, with Bellamy.”

“Bellamy and the girls are coming?” your mom asks.

“You having a party in here?” your dad asks, pushing your hair back.

“I deserve a party,” you tell him, closing your eyes at the feeling.

“Yeah, you do,” he says, rubbing your shoulder. He waits for a beat. “Your mom and I are going to go get some coffee, okay?” he says, giving you the same look he did when you brought crushes home and he wanted to give you some privacy. You roll your eyes. The door closes gently behind your parents.

“Hey,” you tell Lexa, once the room is empty.

She bolts towards you so you barely have time to prepare, and then she’s leaning over the bed, hugging you tight.  She hides her face against your shoulder, and you fight through the pain to return her embrace.

“I thought something bad was going to happen to you,” Lexa says softly, quieted by your skin. 

It’s such a simple statement, but the emotion behind it knocks you off balance. You’ve seen Lexa be and feel a multitude of things, but you’ve never seen her afraid.

“I’m fine,” you reassure her, catching the ends of her messy hair with your fingertips. “It was just a stupid organ we don’t even need rebelling. They’re letting me out tomorrow. I’m going home with my parents.”

Lexa pulls away from you, careful not to jostle your arm that still sports an IV.

“So soon?”

“The surgery wasn’t too invasive so I only get a couple of days to feel sorry for myself. I’m still not going to class on Tuesday, though, I’m milking this,” you joke, but it fails to make Lexa smile.

Her eyes are running over you, from your face to your hand to your stomach, like she’s making sure everything is where it’s supposed to. It makes you smile. It makes you blush.

“I’m okay, Lex,” you promise. “Thanks to you.”

She looks up at you at that, taken aback. 

“Please don't scare me like that again,” she says. She kisses your cheek, and then the corner of your jaw, in quick succession. Shy little kiss, before going back to hiding against your neck.

She holds you and it hurts, your entire stomach feels like its on fire, but you don't tell her to stop.

.

You answer another round of ‘ _what happened_?’ and ‘ _how are you feeling_?’ when Octavia and Raven arrive, followed by Bellamy. They’re careful not to hug you too tight or speak too loud, and though Rae raises her eyebrows at how Lexa doesn’t leave your side, she's careful Lexa doesn't see it. Visiting hours are over before you’d like them to, and Lexa catches a ride back to campus with your friends. She hugs you tight before she leaves.

.

“It was nice of my appendix to do this this weekend instead of the next,” you tell your dad. “That would’ve blown.” 

Your voice is low and scratchy, a result of the pain medication that has you a little loopy and the half hour trip back home from the hospital. You’re so tired.

“I don’t know, my daughter getting appendicitis to escape my birthday party would've been a hell of a story to tell.”

You chuckle, and then groan when it hurts a little. Your dad grimaces in sympathy.

You reach for a blanket at the foot of your bed, and he drapes it over your lap. Your room is still the same since you left for college, apart from a few boxes your parents have chosen to put in there as storage. You know your dad will guilt trip you about them if you ask. You don't really care. Your eyes are closing of their own volition, and you settle deeper into your pillows.

“It was nice of Lexa to go with you to the hospital,” he says, an opening for you to talk if you’ve ever seen one. You want to tell him everything, how much you like her, how much you feel for her. How sometimes you she’s not indifferent as you thought. But you're tired and achy, and so close to falling asleep.

“Yes, it was,” you say instead. “She carried me to the car, you know?” you add.

“She did?” your dad asks. “Over her shoulder or bridal style?”

You smile, mumble something that sounds like ‘shut up’, and let sleep take you.

.

“Are you sure you want to go back to school so soon?” your mom asks as you sit at the breakfast island. The pain in your stomach is barely there -it only hurts if you move too fast or double over. 

“It’s Sunday, it’s been three days,” you argue. “The doctor said I could go back to my regular routine in three to five days.”

“Why don’t you take the five days, then?” you mom asks. “You’re coming home this weekend for your dad’s birthday anyways, just stay here the whole week.”

“I can’t miss that much class, mom,” you say. “I thought you’d be on my side in this.”

She looks at you closely, and clicks her tongue.

“I just worry,” she says, finally.

“I know, but I’m fine,” you say. “I’m feeling fine,” you promise, and your mom twists her mouth but nods.

“Is it really your professors you’re so desperate to see?” your dad asks by your side suddenly, and you jump. You don’t tell him how Lexa has been texting you nonstop since you got out of hospital, worrying over you, but you get a feeling he knows.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, crazy man.”

.

Lexa is waiting for you in the parking lot when you arrive at campus. Your mom parks next to the sidewalk, and Lexa is at your door in a second, helping you out.

“Don’t let her move around too much, Lexa,” your mom pleads through the open window.

“Ye’s m’am,” Lexa says.

“And no alcohol, no junk food-”

“The doctor didn’t say anything about junk food,” you protest.

“No, that’s me. It’s not good for you. Lexa?”

“Yes m’am,” she repeats.

“And you can call me Abby, honey.”

.

You don't really need help to walk, but you say nothing as Lexa offers you her arm to hold on to on the way to your dorm. Campus is buzzing in the early Monday morning, and Lexa navigates the crowds for you, never letting anyone get too close.

After a few minutes, though, you’re left trying to keep up with her. She's walking too fast.

“Wait, hold up,” you say. “I don’t know how but your legs are a lot longer than mine.”

“Sorry!” She stops in an instant, and you’re keenly aware of her hand on your waist. Your lower belly aches, the stinging, pulling feeling of skin trying to knit itself back together.

“Do you need me to carry you?” Lexa asks, and you shake your head, imagining what a sight that would be in the middle of campus. And also because you don’t need it. Of course.

“No, I’m okay. Just let me catch my breath.” 

Lexa nods. If she stopped looking at you with those eyes it would speed up the process.

.

“Does it hurt?” Lexa asks, once you’re settled in Raven’s bed. You’re not climbing the stairs to yours until it’s absolutely necessary.

“A little,” you answer. “I'm fine.”

“Do you want something from the cafeteria?” Lexa’s quick to ask. “I could-”

“Lex. Don’t take what my mom said too seriously. You don't have to-”

“I want to,” she says, interrupting you. You can tell she means it. You swallow.

"Okay," you yield, and settle back on the pillow. “Want to see?” you ask her, thumbing at the fabric of your shirt. She nods.

You pull your t-shirt up your belly, careful not to touch the wounds, and undo your jeans. The angry red cuts startled you whe you first saw them. You doubt they'll be noticeable when they heal, but it was still odd to go to sleep one way and wake up another. To know someone had tinkered with your insides. The dissolvable stitches haven’t finished disappearing, and it’s a struggle to leave them alone. The wounds are not very big, maybe an inch long, one down below your belly button, the other two on either side of your stomach.  

You’re staring so hard at the little cuts, wondering if they’ll actually leave scars, that you don’t notice when Lexa moves. Her long, delicate fingers touch your stomach so softly it makes you jump. Her thumb traces from the wound in your right side to the one down below your belly button, just above your undone zipper. 

She’s staring at your skin and you’re staring at her. Your squeeze the fabric of your t-shirt. Lexa looks up at the movement, and she glides her fingers over the still visible marks of surgical tape on  the back of your hand.

“…where they put in the IV,” you explain softly. You don't want to break this moment, whatever it is. She holds your hand, and just for a moment, you think she might kiss you better. You’re not sure when you became so tired, but the touch relaxes you as much as it makes your heart race. Lexa rubs her thumb over the skin on the back of your hand. It's so soothing your lids nearly droop.

“Do you want me to go so you can rest?” she asks, letting go of your hand.

"No, I'm- I'm okay." You hold back a yawn, refusing to let your body betray you.

“We could watch a movie, then,” she offers. You nod, it’s as good an excuse as any to have her stay here. 

You fall asleep before the beginning credits are over.

.

A day at the hospital and three days on bed rest have actually made you miss the hubbub of the cafeteria. After nearly a year at school, there’s something charming about the bright lights overhead and the endless supply of fried food. 

Food you’re not enjoying right now, because Lexa took your mom seriously.

“You can bunk with me,” Raven offers. “Though I can’t promise I wont knee you with my good leg.”

You take another bite of your pasta, considering your options. Simply thinking of climbing the stairs to your bed makes you wince. But you also know that Raven packs a mean kick.

“You’re welcome in my bed,” Lexa says, and you swallow your food, hard. “I -I mean, we can switch dorms, until your stomach feels better.” She turns toward Raven and O, who -to their credit- didn’t laugh. “If you two don’t mind,” Lexas tells them.

“You’re gonna put Clarke and her ex-boy toy in a room together?” Raven asks.

“Finn wasn't my boy-toy,” you say, looking at Lexa’s reaction.

“Of course he wasn't,” O mutters.

“Thanks Lex, but I think the embarrassment would hurt more than the scars,” you say honestly. You can find a way to climb into your bed.

A few seniors walk in that moment looking like overgrown twelve year olds, bandannas tied around their upper arms and massive looking dart guns on their hands. You’d almost forgotten about humans vs zombies. 

“The game’s already started?” 

“Nah, it’s tomorrow morning. People are just excited,” Raven tells you.

“As they _should be_ ,” Octavia stresses. You expect her comments about how amazing the game is. What you don’t expect is Lexa leaning forward, eyes lighting up, and how she gives O a run for her money strategizing. 

Lexa and Octavia look like they’re deep in trenches planning for war, not sitting in the middle of a college dining hall, and it’s a sight to behold. Lexa could’ve been a soldier in another life, or a warrior of sorts; that’s how serious she looks when speaking about the efficiency of shooting marshmallows over socks. You don’t think laughing would be wise, so you simply meet Raven’s eyes over your dinner and admire them while they go at it.

Somewhere along the line, it turns into an explanation of how the game works, for your benefit.

“The Zombies turn people by touching them, and we have to hand over our ID card.”

“ID card?”

“Yes, Clarke. We all get ID cards. Keep up,” Octavia says, rolling her eyes the same way she’s done for the five years you’ve known her. 

“Hey, she wasn’t here when they explained,” Lexa interrupts Octavia. She hasn’t been around O enough to know that’s just how she is, but you appreciate her stepping up for you. She turns to you. “You have to ask them for an ID card, it’s just a piece of cardboard with a number and your name. The RA at Legacy Hall will print it for you. You have to hand it over to the zombie who turned you.”

“And as a human you wear the bandanna on your arm, and as a zombie you have to switch it over to your head, so people can recognize you,” Octavia continues explaining. Raven has long since opted out of the conversation, choosing to watch you struggle instead.

“Human team gets to shoot the zombies, if they get hit, they're out of the game for 15 minutes and can’t turn anyone. So it’s our job to attack them,” Octavia says.

“I thought our job was to run away from the zombies,” you say. 

“No!” Octavia exclaims, and Raven hides her chuckle in her glass of water.

“Octavia is right, we have to face them head on,” Lexa says.

“ _Exactly_ ,” O agrees.

“If we want human team to win we need to _activel_ y slow zombie team down,” Lexa tells you. 

“Are you going to start talking about guerrilla warfare now, Commander?”

She remembers the nickname, you can tell, and you share a smile over the memories. You used to antagonize her with it when you were roommates, then tease her with it when you became friends. It feels like ages ago.

“Fuck, that’s a great code name,” Octavia says. “Give me one.”

“Octopus,” you say with a straight face.

“Pocahontas,” Raven suggests.

“You know how Lincoln and Anya and the rest of them are calling themselves grounders?” Lexa asks. Octavia nods. “Well if Lincoln’s a grounder, you could be grounder pounder.”

You snort, and Raven high-fives Lexa. Octavia looks a little flustered, but you can tell she likes it, beneath her grumbling. Lexa just laughs.

.

You get turned into a zombie on your way to the cafeteria the following morning, and Miller is nice about it, he even asks you how you feel and shows you his very own appendicitis scar on his side. You turn Raven afterward. Convince her to let you touch her, more like, since you’ll have to leave the game halfway through anyways for your father’s birthday. You both know there’s no way you could convince Octavia to just let it go, so you don't even try.

There’s one more person who doesn’t know you’ve been turned yet.

You find her coming out of the English building, a book pressed to her chest and her hair in a messy half-up do.

“Lexa!”

She smiles wide when she sees you, and you almost feel bad.

You throw your arms around her in a hug once you’re close enough, and the second she relaxes into you you playfully nip at her neck, growling.

Lexa squeaks as she jumps away.

“You’re turned,” you tell her.

“That’s not fair!” she exclaims. “You just-you cant-Clarke!” Her cheeks bloom red.

You laugh. The bandanna is tied against your arm, so it’s not like she could accuse you of cheating.

“You cant just use people’s weaknesses against them like that, especially when they trust you,” Lexa says, having recovered from the surprise. “It’s unbecoming.”

You’re worried you’ve actually pissed her off, knowing how seriously she took the game, but then her mouth twitches like she’s holding back a smile.

“May I have your ID card, please, little zombie?” You ask, your mind running over the words ‘people’s weaknesses’. 

She begrudgingly hands her card over, and it’s goddamn adorable.

.

Zac Efron plays with his little brother’s ghost on screen. 

The laptop sits on the edge of Octavia’s desk. She and Raven are comfortable in Raven’s bed, the empty bowl of popcorn at their feet. You ran out long ago, with only one bag for four people, but no one was willing to make the trip down the hall to borrow someone’s microwave again.

Lexa is with you on the floor. 

You’re so aware of her, her warmth and her smell, her side against yours. You won’t admit you check on her every once in a while, turn to catch her expression at the good parts from this movie you’ve already seen. She’s asleep one of those times. Tendrils of brown hair fall over her eyes, and move every time she exhales.

“Where you going to brush her hair away?” Octavia asks, and your cheeks heat up. “That’s gay.”

“Shut up,” you say.

“Gross but cute,” Raven adds.

Lexa mumbles something next to you, and Raven and O immediately shut up.

“Lex?”

“Clarke?”

“Hey.” You nudge her face with your nose, resting your forehead against the side of her head. It feels awfully intimate, but not wrong, and she sinks further into you. Her arm comes to rest on your stomach. She snuggles closer to your side, her forehead resting against your neck. She drapes her knee over your leg. You swallow. 

“You fell asleep like 10 minutes ago,” you tell her softly, and dare to run your fingers up and down her back soothingly. “The movie is nearly over.”

“What?” She pulls away from you, and looks around the room. Raven and O pointedly stare at the screen.

Lexa rubs the sleep out of her eyes and, once she notices your position, gets out of your space. Even from the faint glow of the laptop you can see the pink that tints her cheeks.

Your legs still rest together for the rest of the movie.

.

When Lexa tags the guy, he’s shocked. You recognize the dude as a senior, one of Bellamy’s classmates, and he towers over Lexa. He hands over his ID card almost in a daze. 

Lexa turns to you and waves the ID card, jumping up and down a little.

“Nice job, Commander,” O says, and goes to congratulate her.

“Was that Anya’s cousin?” you hear the guy say as he walks past you.

“Nah, no fucking way,” his friend answers.

Octavia gushes to Lexa, showing her the various tag she’s collected through the day (she finally got turned into a zombie by a boy named Atom) and Lexa listens intently. They’ll probably start discussing strategy any second.

You understand the senior guys. You can’t reconcile Lexa with the quiet girl you met last year, the one people left alone and you’d never seen talking  to anyone but her cousin. She's beautiful, she's always been beautiful, but nowadays she looks... _awake_.  You shake your head, walking over to Lexa.

“See, Octavia thinks ‘Commander’ is cool, but I’m partial to ‘little zombie’,” you say, pinching her side. Lexa blushes as she smiles.

.

“I can’t wait until Lincoln gets turned,” Octavia says as you walk into your bedroom. She drops her bag on her desk and climbs the stair to her bed, dropping down with a huff. “I mean, it’s cool being on the same team. But imagine if we had to go _against_ each other.”

“You're the only person I know who actively wants to shoot their boyfriend,” you tell her. 

“It would be fun!” she argues.

Lincoln would go with it, too. He’s amazing to Octavia. He’s two years ahead of you, and though you had your doubts at first, with Octavia only eighteen when they started dating and Lincoln already twenty-one, he’s proven that he loves her, time and time again. 

You kick off your shoes, climbing the stair to your loft bed and carefully laying down. Your stomach barely even hurts anymore, but you’re not risking it.  You stare at the ceiling for a moment, wondering,  letting the words float around your mind.

“O?”

“Yeah?”

“How did you know you were in love with Lincoln?”

She doesn’t answer for a moment. “I...I guess I just did.”

“But how?” you insist. You’ve never been in love. You’ve never been in love before and you’re so afraid of accepting what you know to be true, because it feels huge, it feels too big to contain inside your body.  

“I could feel it in my gut,” Octavia says. “It’s not butterflies, it’s like….like when I get caught off guard in the ring and I get punched in the stomach, but in a good way.” You chuckle. Only Octavia could come up with an analogy for love that was so violent. “Every time I look at him, it’s just….a sucker-punch.”

You think her words through. A familiar flash of green invades your head and you know what she means.

“And that’s a good thing?”

“Yes,” Octavia says right away. “Because it doesn’t hurt. Its the opposite. He’s so gentle. He tapes up my hands before we spar. He holds back my hair when I’m so drunk I puke and he doesn't say ‘I told you so’.” You can hear Octavia’s smile in her voice. “He makes me breakfast out of a shitty hot plate and a microwave when I stay over in his building.“ Her voice goes quiet, pensive. “He tells me I’m strong before he calls me beautiful. He feels like home to me. Like a good place to rest.”

You don’t know why, but your eyes sting.

“I’m so glad you have him, O.”

“Me too,” she agrees. “Hey, Clarke?”

“Yeah?”

“Why did you ask?”

You don’t answer, and Octavia understands.” 

.

“Your mom said no alcohol,” Lexa reminds you when you tell her of your plans.

“I’m not going to drink,” you promise. “There won’t be alcohol, it’s in the middle of campus. An honest-to-goodness, sanctioned by the school activity.”

The school is having a ‘cultural night’, and you’ll be damned if you know what that means, but Maya from your Art History class told you there would be poems and music in the grounds, and it doesn’t sound half bad.

“Come on Lexa, I want you to come with us,” you ask, doing your best impression of puppy eyes, and Lexa smiles and looks away. She’ll play humans vs zombies and run around laughing with people but she’s still wary of anything that sounds like a party. “I’m leaving tomorrow afternoon,” you remind her. “You should get your Clarke time while you can.” And that seems to do the trick.

“Who else is coming?” she asks.

“Lincoln and Octavia will be there. And Raven and a friend of hers. They’ll be doing their own thing though, so it’s truly just us.”

“That sounds nice”

 

It feels more like a triple date than it has any right to. Octavia sits between Lincoln’s knees,  and Raven and Wick -whom you officially meet tonight- talk about something that goes right over your head most of the time. You sit next to Lexa.

You could have listened to the spoken word poetry, or the love sonnets, and compared them to her. You could have heard the theater majors reciting Pablo Neruda and think that no, you wouldn’t like Lexa to go far off, not even for a day. In truth, you just have fun. You laugh at the wanna-be stand up comedians and you holler for the spoken word about cat-calling. You sit together, sides touching, and laugh.

In truth, you just fall a little more in love with her.

 

“Oh, I love that song.”

The beginning notes of the catchy little ballad sound through the massive speakers. They turned on the music once people were done presenting their acts for the night, and all that’s left is easy conversation between friends, the music, and the chill of the night. The sky is dark and immense above you, and even where you are you can catch a few stars.

 Lexa nods toward  the open space in front of you, a question in her eyes, a small, shy smile on her lips. You nod. She helps you up, and then touches your stomach in a gentle reminder not to exert yourself. You’d forgotten about your stitches, to be honest, but it’s clear she hasn’t.

You walk a few steps away from the blanket you were sitting on. You start swaying with the easy notes of the guitar before Ed Sheeran’s voice comes on. Lexa gingerly wraps her arms around your waist, and you reach up to intertwine your fingers at the nape of her neck. Lincoln and Octavia are dancing somewhere behind you, and there are a bunch of other people around, but you it’s true what you told Lexa, it feels like it’s just the two of you.

“I wish I could move like the girl in the video,” you tell Lexa.

“You’re perfect,” she says, and her fingers tighten against your back like the words slipped out. Your chest feels very warm, you could live in this moment forever. 

“Right back at you,” you say quietly,  and bring her even closer to rest your chin on her shoulder. It’s the closest you’ve ever come to admitting how you feel to each other, and you want to hold her tighter, to kiss her, to _ask_ -but the painful sweetness of the wait for something you’re almost sure now you both want it’s just as good.

You stay until they turn the music off.

.

“I had fun tonight,” you say.

“Me too."

“I should go back to my dorm."

" _Stay_. You can stay here. It’s late."

"Finn won’t mind?" 

Lexa shakes her head.

"Okay."

.

You stretch your arms over your head, confused when you breathe in and something tickles your nose. You open your eyes, remember where you are. The room is mercifully empty, though Finn's bed is unmade. Lexa is deeply asleep next to you, her hair what tickled you. You settle back down on the pillows, pushing her hair away from your face. She's on her side, facing you. She looks so peaceful like this, so young. Carefree. She's not the girl who cried in her sleep so many months ago.

The room is a little too warm with the blankets covering you, and you're still wearing last night's jeans, but you don't dare move and wake her. It takes a few minutes until she does that herself.

"Morning, sleepy," you say softly, laying back down on the pillow.

"Hey," she says. Her eyes are an amazing sight up close, flecks of grey and gold swimming in the otherwise solid green. You’ve never been this close to her, this alone with her, this quiet. Lexa has the tiniest of moles on her top lip you’d never noticed before.

Her hand finds its way to your stomach, her thumb resting just below your belly button. Even through your t-shirt, you can feel the warmth of her fingertips. “How are you feeling?” she asks gently.

"Great." 

You wonder if she's thinking about last night, about your arms around each other, swaying to the music. You wonder if it felt right to her too. You think you know the answer.

You could just close the distance between you. It would be so easy. But you wont. You cant. Even if you are sure now that Lexa feels something for you, you wont push her. The ball is in her court now. 

"I have to finish getting my stuff together to go home," you tell her quietly.  Lexa nods.

"Drive safe, please."

"Of course."

"Will you text me before you go?"

"Yeah." You dare move your  hand and rest it on her upper arm, rubbing yout thumb up and down. Lexa looks into your eyes as you do it, and you can hardly explain what's going on inside your chest.  You've dreamed of touching her like this, of just caressing her arm and she wanting you to, and it's happening. You're in love with this girl, right this moment, you're in love. "It’s still early, go back to sleep."

"I have a class at 8," Lexa says, but for the first time you think she might have listened to you and considered missing it.

"Of course you do," you say, and she smiles. You raise up on your elbows and come closer to her, your hair like a courtain hiding you from the world. Lexa draws in a breath. You press your lips to her cheek, soft  and chaste. "Bye Lexa."

.

“We’ll be on the road first thing tomorrow,” Octavia promises.

You’re done pushing all of your dirty clothes into an overfilled rucksack, and after you stuff it in the car you’ll be on your way.  

“You’re so lucky you don’t have classes on Friday,” Raven comments, scrolling down on her laptop. She and Lexa might be the only people you know who do the assigned reading, even if Rae does it ten minutes before class.

“It’s not luck,” you say. “I literally didn’t assign myself any classes on Friday. You did.”

“Hey, I don’t have a say about when to practice,” Octavia pipes up. "And we have a game in two weeks so I can’t skip it.”

“See, Octavia has a good excuse,” you tell Raven. “You just like studying.”

“Sue a bitch for wanting to learn,” Raven says. You laugh.

You lean down to her desk and wrap your arms around her in a quick hug, and then go on the tips of your toes to press a kiss to O’s cheek where she sits on the top bunk.

“I’ll see you guys in a few days.”

.

“Hey,” you greet Lexa when she opens the door. She seems surprised to see you, and you can understand why. You texted her you were leaving an hour ago, but it didn’t feel right to go without seeing her again, so here you are. “I wanted to say goodbye in person.”

Lexa nods and offers you a small smile. She opens the door further to let you in. She doesn't mention how you already did that this morning, more-or-less. You just wanted to see her again.

“So I’ll see you…”

“On Tuesday,” you say. It’s only Friday afternoon, and it seems light years away.

“Tuesday,” Lexa repeats. 

“Mmhm,” you nod. “I might even save you some cake,” you promise.

She smiles. You step forward and wrap your arms around her, and she returns the embrace in kind.

“Goodbye,” you say softly. “Be good while I’m gone,” you tease.

You pull away after a moment, and Lexa’s arms drop away from you. But when you step back, her eyes drop down to your lips. You’re standing so close. Your speeding pulse drumming inside your head and you swallow.

“I- okay,” she says finally. Even as she takes a step back from you, you’ve never been more certain that she feels the same, that she’s attracted to you, that she wants to kiss you as much as you want to kiss her. But it’s on Lexa, now; doing something. You won’t push her.

You won’t push her, but maybe you can give her a little nudge.

You reach for her hand, intertwining your fingers together, and all the while your eyes remain trained on hers. You hear the catch of breath in her throat. 

You wait.

 _If you feel the same, please show me_ , you think. _Let me know I’m not alone in this._

You feel so deeply vulnerable, like the stem of a flower pushing through a crack in the pavement solely waiting to be stepped on. You’ve never had to feel like this before, like someone has split you open, like Lexa can rearrange your insides as she pleases, leaving behind a gaping hole that won’t be filled unless it is with the warmth of her body. It’s how you felt at the boardwalk.

Putting your heart on the line can be scary, you know that, and so you’re holding Lexa’s hand. 

If she needed some confirmation from your part, you’re offering it to her. You’re offering _yourself_ , in the purest of senses, you’re hers for the taking -if she wants you.

She looks at your joint hands, then back at you. Lexa takes a deep breath, you can see it in the rise of her shoulders and the way she licks her lips, and looks away. 

Disappointment rides you hard, settles on your stomach like a stone as you slowly disentangle your fingers.

“Okay,” you say, falsely bright. “I have-”

Lexa steps forward. Your lips meet.

Electricity. That’s what it feels like. You’ve been wanting this, the soft press of her lips against yours, for so long, you could’ve had how you wanted it to go memorized. You didn’t. You’re an artist, but nothing your imagination could come up with would be as good as the real thing. 

It only lasts for a moment before she pulls away, and stares into your eyes, bewildered.

Your heart beats so hard on your chest. You smile and grab the back of her neck, pulling her back in.

You sigh at the touch of your lips.

It’s different now, Lexa kisses you harder, and you return it in kind, chasing her mouth as she moves. You sink your hand in her hair and grasp her waist to pull her closer, and her hands in turn hold your upper arms.

Her breath is so warm when she gasps.

You suck her lower lip desperately, like a kid who’s been allowed the best piece of candy. And God, Lexa tastes sweeter than anything you’ve ever had. 

You pull away only when you have to breathe.

Lexa looks dazed. She looks at you like you just showed her what lies inside Pandora’s box, like you just gave her a gift instead of the other way around. She’s so beautiful.  

You smile so wide it hurts. Lexa does, too, the corners of her mouth lift up and your chest warms at the sight.

“See you on Tuesday?” You ask, a little breathless. Lexa’s smile widens, her lips showing rows of white teeth.

She doesn’t answer, just presses one last sweet, tender kiss to your mouth.

Your lips tingle the whole drive over to your parents.


	20. april, part three

You have to force yourself not to text Lexa while you’re driving home.

You also had to force yourself to step away from her and actually get in the car. You can’t be the kind of person who calls her dad and says ‘hey dad, I cant make it to your 49th birthday party because a pretty girl kissed me’. But Lexa isn't just a pretty girl, good God, she’s the most beautiful- 

You swerve to the right, almost missing your exit. The guy behind you honks. You wince. You promised Lexa you would drive safely, but you’ve never been this buzzed while driving. You don’t think you understood the meaning of ‘blood singing’ until she kissed you.

The house is filled with people when you get there. Your dad is having a birthday dinner party with most of his friends and your mom’s friends, but you know you’ll have another one tomorrow, with just family.

You hug your parents hello when you get there, and answer a quick-fire round of questions about your stitches from your mom. Jaha is there and you wave at him before going up the stairs. You don’t feel so empty when you think of Wells these days. You don’t feel so broken. You just wish he was here -you have so much you want to tell him, so much you hope he knows.

You empty out your rucksack full of dirty clothes -if you’re home you might as well use the washing machine- before chucking off your jacket and going down the stairs. Everyone seems to be on the backyard, except for your dad, who’s serving drinks in the kitchen.

“Hey, need some help?” you ask as you walk in. 

“Sure,” he says, nodding toward the ice. “What has you in such a good mood?” he asks. 

You bite your lip, and begin to fill a few tumblers. Your dad in turn adds a few blackberries to the rum in his hand, your mom’s favorite drink. 

A coy ‘nothing’ is on the tip of your tongue, but you need to tell someone, and you’ve always told him everything.

“She kissed me,” you say, and that makes it so much real. Lexa kissed you, she wants you, she feels the same way about you as you’ve felt about her for a while now.

Your dad raises his eye-brows, and you can’t tell if his surprise is genuine or not. You’re betting on the later. 

“Really, who?” he asks. And, yeah, he definitely knows. 

“Lexa,” you say, and even if you’re humoring him, you can’t help but smile when you say her name. 

“What happened to Finn?” 

“He wasn’t what I was looking for,” you tell him honestly. “He was just a distraction from the real thing.” 

“The real thing, huh?” 

You shrug a little and shake your head, grabbing the drink from your dad’s hands and bouncing out of the kitchen. 

You hand the drink to your mom and she raises an eyebrow at your obvious good mood. You can’t do anything about it, you’re so giddy it comes out of your pores.

 

 .

 

Your mom raises her eyebrows again when you serve yourself a healthy amount of raw green beans and broccoli for dinner. After a solid week of humoring Lexa and improving your diet according to your mom’s guidelines, you have a newfound appreciation for vegetables. Your mom hums disapprovingly when you slather it with vinaigrette, but she was asking for too much if she expected anything different. 

“So Clarke…Are you seeing anyone?” One of your mom’s friends asks once you’re all sitting at the table. Her name is Sandra, and she’s as kind as she’s nosy. 

“No, no.” You laugh, and hope you don’t blush. It was a damn miracle the dinner conversation hadn’t veered to you yet. 

“Really, a girl as pretty as you?” Sandra insists. “I don’t believe that. There must some boy who’s caught your eye.” 

You snort, and your mom wipes her mouth discreetly, trying to hold back a smile in case you go for it. You’d do it, usually, because your pretty sure Sandra knows you dated a girl for half your senior year. 

You used to enjoy challenging people when you were younger, because you knew your parents would back you up. It felt great to be fifteen and tell an inquisitive aunt squeezing your cheeks that you didn’t care about boys at the moment, no, but there was a girl you had your eyes on. Watching her splutter was worth it. 

It’s not now. And what you have with Lexa is too delicate and new to put a name to it; too close to your chest and sweet to let other people in on the secret. 

“No, I’m focusing on my studies,” you say. Your hand itches with the desire to text Lexa.

 “Oh, well, that’s important,” Sandra agrees, and turns to ask your dad’s friend about his grandson. 

 

.

 

“Sorry about Sandra, earlier,” your mom says, passing you a plate. You dry and she washes, your usual routine when your dad cooks so you don’t feel like dead weight around the house. 

“S’okay,” you tell her. 

“Your dad told me you were seeing a boy. Flynn, was it?” 

“Finn,” you correct her. “And not anymore,” you say simply. “It wasn't working out.” 

“Oh.” 

The conversation is cut off just like that. 

Your mom and you have never been particularly good at small talk, you don’t share the same banter you and your dad do. You look at her from the corner of your eye, watch her fumble for a conversation topic and then give up, going back to washing the dishes quietly. You don’t want your relationship to be like this, not anymore. 

You’ve never seen eye to eye, but she’s a good mom, she tries, and you can forgive her for every time her words hurt you because you know she never meant for that. 

‘Are you that stupid?’ is probably the worst thing she ever said to you, after you told her you wanted to make art your career. She apologized not an hour later, sheepishly telling you that she only wanted what was best for your future and a career in art would be too difficult to live off from, but it still killed you inside. 

_“Don’t you believe in me?” you’d asked, throat still raw from the screaming match in the kitchen._

_“It’s not about you, Clarke. You are so, so talented. But it’s…it’s not realistic. I just want you to have a good life. Your dad and I aren’t always going to be here to-”_

_"To pay for my shit,” you finished for her, and she didn’t correct you for the language. “You don’t have to. You don’t even have to pay for college. I’ll find a way to do it. I’ll get a job and I can look into scholarships-”_

_“It’s not about the money, Clarke.”_

_“Then what is it about?!” You exclaimed, getting up from your bed. “If it’s not about what I can do and it’s not about the money then why-”_

_“You always wanted to go to med-school. It’s been your dream since you were a little girl. You took all the right classes in high-school, you’re already enrolled- why now? Why would you change everything now?”_

_“It’s not what I want to do with my life.”_

_“You can always study art later, once you have an established career-”_

_“It’ll take me a decade to become a good enough doctor for you. And by then I’ll be, what? Thirty? And I won’t have time to paint, and it’ll be nothing but a hobby. I don’t want this to be a hobby, mom. Don’t you get it?”_

_You felt young and foolish, and a little too much like doubting yourself, because she was right. What if you didn’t get to do it for a living? It was terrifying to take that leap, but you had to do it, because you wouldn’t be able to live with the what ifs._

_“I’m sorry. I’m sorry if I’m disappointing you, but I just don’t care anymore.” Thick tears fell from your eyes, and you knew your face was red and splotchy. “I can’t care. It’s okay if you don’t want to help me, I’ll find a way to do it myself. But it’s my life.”_

_You looked at her, and it broke you a little, how she was also crying; it broke you a little how horrible it made you feel regardless of how much her words hurt you. It absolutely fucking wrecked you that you knew your following words would hurt her, yet you still said them. “Why can’t you be more like dad? Why don’t you love me like he does?”_

_“I love you, Clarke, please don’t say that.” She tried to hold your hands but you flinched away. “I’m sorry. I just want what’s best for you.”_

_“Why don’t you let me choose what that is?”_  

She did, in the end. She called the university that same afternoon and pulled you out. You switched to an art major in Raven and O’s college, where you’d wanted to go all along. It still hurt. You were still in the outs for a long while after that, but you forgave her, and she accepted your choice to major in art.

You know what a mother who doesn’t care looks like, you know what not having one at all looks like, you know what the wrong sort can do…you’re lucky to have the mom you do. You’re just now realizing that. And even more, if you hadn’t enrolled so late, you would have never been roommates with Lexa that first semester, and you can’t begrudge the circumstances that led you to that. You’re absolutely terrified of how, if anything had gone differently, you would have never met her.

Maybe you’ll never be as close to your mom as you are with your dad, but you can try. You don’t know how to keep the conversation going, so you decide to go with honesty. You can start opening up to her, that seems like as good a first step as any. 

“I like someone though,” you tell her, grabbing another plate from her hands. 

“Oh.” She looks surprised you’re telling her about it, and you promise yourself to try and call her more often. “That’s...that’s great. What’s their name?” 

You smile at her use of a gender-neutral pronoun. You have a good mom, you do. 

“It’s Lexa,” you tell her. 

“Oh,” she said, and not even she looked surprised. “I’ve got to say I was surprised when you became such good friends after you didn’t get along as roommates.” 

“Misunderstandings,” you tell her. 

“I see,” your mom says. “But at the hospital, well, she seemed like she really cared about you. I actually thought something was going on back then,” she confides in you. “Your dad did too,” she says, and of course he did. “Are you together? Is it serious?” 

“We haven’t even gone on a date yet, but it feels that way a little,” you say. “I really, really like her.” You’re in fucking love with Lexa, but you want her to hear it first.

“Well, I hope it works out, honey,” your mom says, and squeezes your wrist with her soapy hand.

 

.

 

It’s later than you thought when everyone goes home and you finally go up to your room. It’s nearing 11pm and though you want to talk to Lexa, you don't want to call and wake her. She needs her sleep, she sets her alarm for 7 am every day. 

You bite your lip, and decide there’s no harm in texting her since it probably won’t wake her if she’s asleep already. 

‘Goodnight beautiful’ you type and send before you lose your nerve. You now know how her mouth tastes, your lips still tingle with the pressure of hers -you don’t think you’re overstepping a line. 

You fall asleep before she texts you back. 

.

 

You sleep in. You feel warm and lazy when you wake up, and indulgently stretch your arms above your head for a few minutes. You don’t think you’ve ever had a better night’s sleep -barring waking up next to Lexa. 

You twist around toward your bedside table, groaning at the pops on your back. You don’t have any texts from Lexa. Raven and Octavia have sent you selfie after selfie. 

You drag your feet down the stairs when you finally come down, pajamas still on and hair a mess. 

“Good morning kid,” your dad greets. 

“Morning,” you croak out, throwing your arms around him. “Happy birthday daddy.” 

“Thank you baby.” He presses a kiss to your head. 

“When are Raven and Octavia getting here?” your mom asks from the kitchen. 

“They texted me, they’re like 20 minutes away.” 

“Okay. I’ll save them some pancakes,” your mom says, and your stomach growls.

 

.

 

Raven and Octavia get there in time for lunch (it’s later than you thought) and have pizza with a side of pancakes. Your dad takes his barbecue out back, this humongous black shiny thing you and your mom bought him as a father’s day gift last year, and you spend most of the afternoon helping him flip burgers and chicken. 

Your mom offers to take over the cooking but he says he’s enjoying it too much to let her. You think he likes the wholesome American family aesthetic. 

Jaha arrives a little after that with a case of beer, and your mom says nothing when you grab one. She might have actually started seeing you like an adult after all. You like it. You hope she knows your conversation last night meant something, that it was you trying to connect with her again. 

You take out your cell phone while everyone’s eating. Lexa saw your text, but she hasn’t said anything back. At risk of sounding desperate, you decide to text her again. 

‘Hey. I know you’re in class. Just wanted to talk to you.’ You send it before you can change your mind. She’s busy, you know she’s probably busy, it doesn’t mean anything that she hasn’t texted you. Still, a small part of you begins to doubt. Does she regret kissing you? 

A sharp elbow on your side shakes you out of it. 

“What?” 

“Who you texting with that face?” Raven asks, and you put your cell away, biting your lip. 

You can’t wait to tell your friends. You feel like a schoolgirl, like you’re back in your first boyfriend’s bed and had to call Raven and O to tell them you had sex for the first time, not even caring if the guy was asleep two feet away from you. You want to tell them how excited you are, because you’ve never felt like this about anyone, and it’s as exciting as it is terrifying. But not yet.

 

.

 

You sing happy birthday to your dad underneath the inky blue night sky, and when he blows out the two big candles with the numbers 4 and 9 you get a tight sort of feeling in your chest. 

“Don’t get any older, please,” you say into his shoulder when you hug him afterward. 

“Can’t promise that, kid,” he says in return. 

He cuts you the best piece of cake, and it tastes just a little sweeter. 

.

 

“I kissed Lexa before I left campus.” You say it casually as you’re sitting down on the couch, and Raven nearly drops the hot chocolate mugs in her hands. 

“And?” O asks, punching you lightly on the arm. You laugh. 

“Well, she kissed me, actually.” You get a flutter in your stomach at the words. That happened. 

“Shit, finally!” Raven exclaims, handing you one of the mugs. Your parents are outside still with Jaha, and you decided to leave them to it. 

“So? Now what?” Rae asks. 

“Yeah, what’s next in your little gay fairytale?” O wonders. 

“God, I don’t know.” You don’t, but you know what you wish. “I want to take her out on a proper date.” 

“Party animal Clarke Griffin has been tamed,” O says solemnly, a big smile pulling at her cheeks. They’re both happy for you, you can feel it fill the room. 

“I’m kissing her again before that,” you confide, taking a sip of your drink. 

“And there’s the frat-boy we know and love,” Raven says, and you laugh. 

“We’re happy for you, you incredible dumb ass,” O tells you. 

“About goddamn time,” Raven says. “You were texting during dinner, weren't you?” 

Your mood dampens a little. With the sun down below the horizon it’s been a whole day since the last time you talked to her. 

“I texted her, but we haven't spoken since I left,” you say, and if you can hear the change in your tone you’re sure your friends can too. 

“She’s probably just busy,” Raven offers. “Girl’s a double major, I’ve never seen someone that serious about school besides me.” 

“What if she regrets it?” you say out-loud, giving voice to your worries. It’s been sitting at the back of your head all day, but now it takes center stage. “What if she thought she liked me but-”

 “Don’t think like that,” O says. 

“Yeah. That girl makes heart eyes at you whenever you come around,” Raven tells you, and pleasant warmth floods your cheeks. “I’m surprised it took this long to be honest.” 

“…It was worth the wait.”

 

.

 

Jaha goes home around 8pm, and that leaves your parents trying to pick out a film, and Raven and O putting away the leftovers, in an effort to pull their own weight. You sneak upstairs after saying your goodbyes to Thelonius, sure you won’t be missed for a few minutes.

You sit on the side of your bed, cell phone in hand. You were excited over calling, but now you’re actually nervous. It’s not a feeling you’re familiar with. What if something has changed?

“What’s wrong, bug?” your dad asks from the doorway. It doesn’t surprise you that he came to check on you.

You shrug.

“I’ve been known to give good advice, you know?” he says, sitting down next to you.

“You always say ‘go for it’, no matter what I tell you,” you say, smiling, but looking at the floor. You’re lost in your own thoughts.

“And hasn’t that worked out for you so far?” your dad asks. You put the phone down and bite your lip. “I’ve never seen you like this,” he says.

“I’ve never felt like this,” you tell him honestly.

“Everything okay?” your mom asks, leaning in the door. Your dad looks at you. He always was your confident, and he never told on you, not once.

“Mom knows,” you tell him, and he looks surprised by the fact. He turns toward your mom.

“You know our daughter is romancing a young lady by the name of Lexa?”

You groan to hide your laugh. He always knows how to cheer you up.

“I’ve heard something of that sort.” Your mom plays along. “We should put more money in her card so she can take her somewhere nice.”

“Italian,” your dad says, getting up. “That’s how I convinced your mother I was cool,” he tells you. He wraps his arms around your mom and kisses her cheek. “Still works.”

Your mom turns her head and they share a small kiss. You get this crazy, hopeful flash of a future where you picture you and Lexa in their place.

You’ve kissed her once but you swear you can taste your future in her lips.

“I’m breaking out the wine downstairs, if you want to come down,” your mom says. “I think your friends might have gotten started on it already.”

“I’m good, I think I’m just going to sleep now. Can you tell Rae and O?”

“Okay,” your mom says, and they start to leave.

“Wait,” you stop them. “I love you guys.” Your parents smile at the words.

“We love you too, Clarke,” your mom says.

“Good night, baby.”

 

.

 

The phone rings three times before she picks it up.

“Lex?” you ask quietly, feeling a little foolish because this is her cell phone.

“Hi,” she says. Her voice floods you with warmth. You imagine her hair, a mess of curls and waves after a long windy day. You imagine her in her favorite sweater, reading glasses on. The picture in your mind is soft and lovely, but it could never come close to the real thing.

“Hey.” You’re smiling so hard you hope she can hear it. “What are you doing?” The questions makes you roll your eyes at yourself, but you have a limited amount of options before your mouth just lets the wrong, far-too-soon words roll out.

“I was getting ready for bed,” Lexa says. “What are you doing?”

“Smiling.”

“Clarke?”

“Yeah?”

You wait for a moment, listening to her breathing.

“Did you mean it?” Lexa’s voice is low and quiet, faint, as if she could possibly doubt the answer. You won’t let her.

“I’ve never meant anything more.” You can still feel her, like indelible ink spilled across your mouth. “I loved kissing you,” you say, and it slips out before you can worry about if it’s appropriate or not. “I want to do it again.”

The line is silent for a few breaths after that, and you wait patiently, your heart dying and coming back to life with every beat.

“Me too,” Lexa tells you.

“I cant wait to see you,” you say. You’re past worrying about playing your cards too soon. You don’t have any left. This isn’t a game.

“Tuesday,” Lexa says.

“Tuesday,” you repeat.

 

 .

 

You spend Sunday playing board games and eating leftover barbecue food, and it’s only in the mid-afternoon that Raven and Octavia start gearing up to drive back to campus.

Bellamy’s truck is ready to go in no time. Raven is loading up on food when your dad comes down the stairs, your rucksack in hand.

“Here’s your bag, kid.”

“What?”

“I know you said you were staying until Tuesday but I think we both know you want to go back now, so go.” He winks. “Say hi to Lexa for me.”

You can’t control the smile that spreads across your face.

“Love you,” you say, hugging him. You hug your mom goodbye, and you don’t even have to explain because her smile tells you she already knows.

You get the feeling the lack of surprise in Octavia’s face when you throw your bag in the back of the truck means she was in on it. You don’t care. You ignore their teasing as she backs the truck out of the driveway, and you can’t wait until you’re back at campus. The next hour will probably be the longest of your life.

It feels like your heart will beat right out of your chest.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting closer to the end! 
> 
> Not much Lexa in this chapter, but I really like Clarke's relationship with her parents, and this chapter was a bit self-indulgent in that aspect (and I also like to torture us while we wait for Clexa to meet again, tbh) 
> 
> I'll be updating as soon as possible, though! And I have to say, the last four chapters are my favorite out of this whole fic. Let me know what you thought! :)


	21. april, part four

  _“The one thing I know for sure is that feelings are rarely mutual, so when they are, drop everything, forget belongings and expectations, because this is it, this is what the entire world is after and you’ve stumbled upon it by chance, by accident - so take a deep breath, take a step forward, now run, collide like planets in the system of a dying sun and embrace each other with both arms.” -Beau T_ aplin 

 

 .

 

You open the door so hard it bounces back, and you’re met with two equally surprised stares. You thought you could just barge into Lexa’s room and kiss her, but you hadn’t accounted for Finn, your ex-something-slash-Lexa’s roommate. Life hardly ever works out like in the movies. 

“Oh.” 

“Hey, Clarke…” Finn waves from his desk. Your eyes jump from him to Lexa. She’s staring at you. 

“Finn, hey-” 

“I thought you were coming back on Tuesday,” Lexa says. She sounds like trembling excitement made into a girl, and your chest squeezes. 

“Change of plans,” you say weakly. 

“Oh, you were away from campus?” Finn asks. 

“Yeah, my dad’s birthday.” 

“Cool,” Fin says. He scratches the back of his neck. “I was just leaving,” he says, signaling to the empty bag on his desk. He stuffs his notebook inside a long with some earphones, and zipps it up. 

“Oh, okay,” you say. 

“Bye Clarke,” he tells you. “Woods.” 

The door closes behind him. 

“Clarke-” 

Your lips are on hers in an instant. 

Lexa gasps, the smallest sound of surprise before she melts against you, before her hands flutter around your face, just barely rest against your cheeks. 

It feels as though your very blood pulses for her in this moment. Everything is just _Lexa, Lexa, Lexa_.

Before you realize it you’re backing her up against the bed. She makes a surprised little noise when the backs of her knees hit the mattress, and then you’re falling forward onto her, just barely catching yourself before you pressed her against the bed. You’re hovering over her, and she’s leaned back on her elbows looking up at you. It’s a rush. But Lexa looks nervous, and that’s the last thing you want. You pull away. 

“Too much, too soon?” You ask, sitting back. She nods. Lexa’s lips are red and a little swollen and you did that, your mouth did that. You’re dizzy. She looks dazed. 

“Would you go on a date with me?” you ask, grinning. 

She nods again, and a smile lights up her face.

  

.

  

“I thought you didn’t like me this way,” you say softly. It sounds strange, young, like a middle school question but it applies. You trail your fingers up and down her arm. You’re not quite sure how you found yourselves in this position, but you like it.  

You’ve never had so much of her body so close to you all at once, not even when you danced together the other day. It’s nice. You’ve never felt this protective over someone before. You’ve never been much of a cuddler, either, but Lexa has a way of getting that out of you you’ve discovered. Your left arm rests beneath her pillow, your hands tangled up. Her back is pressed toward your front, her legs bent to accommodate yours. Your right hand completes another journey up her arm and back down again. 

“I thought I shouldn't,” she answers quietly, and you’re lost for a second before you remember your question. She thought she shouldn’t like you. “After Costia…” 

You close your eyes. 

“You miss her. You loved her, it’s okay.” You rub her shoulder. “I understand.” 

“No. Not…because of that,” Lexa explains turning around to look at you. You hold your head up with your hand. “Because of what happened-” 

“What happened to Costia wasn’t your fault,” you say sternly. She nods, you think more to appease you than because she believes you. 

“Doesn’t change the fact my parents-” 

“I’m not dating your parents, I’m dating you,” you say. “I mean, we’re going on a date.” 

“So right now we’re…pre-dating?” Her nose wrinkles up and this is new, she’s teasing you. 

“I’ll you show a predator.” 

It’s something you can do now, tickle her and then swallow her giggles with your mouth. 

It’s such a sight, Lexa on her back, looking up at you with those green green eyes you always had a thing for. You touch her cheek with your thumb, running it down until it rests on the swell of her pout. 

“After the boardwalk…I'm sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable.” You didn’t know you were going to bring it up until you did, buy you guess you can talk about it now, that what kept you quiet is a moot point. 

Lexa shakes her head. 

“You made me feel scared,” she explains. “I felt…so much.” Your heart pounds in your chest at her words. “The last time…I never want anything bad to happen to you because of me. I still don't…if my parents…” 

“You're your own person, Lexa. You don't owe them anything.” 

“I owe _you_ something.” 

She raises her head to kiss you and you meet her half way. Her fingers are in your hair, surer now; pulling you closer as she opens her mouth beneath yours. A pleasant shiver runs down your spine at the touch of her tongue. It lasts longer than any of your kisses so far, and that’s an amazing thought, that you have enough now to compare. 

“What was that for?” you ask her when you pull away, breathless. 

“The boardwalk. I wish I’d kissed you back then.” 

You feel silly with it, the love blossoming inside your chest. 

“I’m good with now.”

 

.

  

 “Tell me something I don't know.” 

“You know everything about me, Clarke.”

“That’s not true. Tell me…your favorite color.” 

“Blue,” Lexa says without hesitation. The way her eyes are trained on yours leave no question of why that is. 

“For what it’ worth, I used to think purple was mine,” you tell her. “Now I'm partial to green.” 

It’s so cheesy. It’s such a fucking line, but you don’t care. 

 

.

 

Eventually, the sky darkens, and your stomach begins to ache with a plead for food. You watch Lexa pull on a jacket with a smile, and she seems a little self-concious, but for the life of you you can’t stop looking at her. 

You intertwine your fingers before you leave her room 

Once you’re outside she lets go of your hand and pushes hers deep into her jacket pockets. It’s not that chilly out. And you’ve been so physically close the past few hours you already miss her. You throw your arm around her waist- 

“ _Clarke,_ ” she says looking around, and shakes you off. Rejection floods you, with a hint of embarrassment. 

It leaves you feeling cold. 

You think about it all through dinner. You have plates of macaroni and cheese with chicken, and for the first time the food fails to comfort you. You don’t want to push her. She agreed to go on a date with you, and not 20 minutes ago you were in her bed with your arms wrapped around her body. This is good, you shouldn't want for more. But suddenly you don’t know if you’re allowed to hold her hand in public, to tell Bellamy and Monty and the rest of your friends. 

You simply don’t know what you’re doing. You have to ask. 

“Are we doing this in secret?” you ask, and Lexa’s fork stops midway to her mouth. 

“I…do you _want_ to-” 

“No! I’m dating the most beautiful girl on campus, I want to shout it from the rooftops,” you say. Lexa blushes so prettily you want to trail your fingers over her cheeks. “It’s just…earlier.” You don’t need to explain because she gets it. “I mean, if you don’t like that sort of thing it’s fine. It’s just…” 

“I’m sorry,” Lexa says. She tucks her hair behind her ears. “I guess old habits die hard.” 

When you understand what she means -it breaks your heart.

  

.

  

It’s only once you enter you room that you begin to feel the stiffness in your limbs from the drive over, and the slight smell of sweat coming from your clothes. 

You have your dorm, and Lexa has hers; she rooms with a guy you used to make out with and you sleep in a loft bed that you’re not entirely sure could hold two people. And it makes you feel a little clingy, but if it was up to you? You’d be with Lexa right now. 

You take a shower, change into pajamas, and drop down in Raven’s bed, the best spot to lay down and charge your cell phone at the same time.You’re not exactly sure where your friends went after you arrived at campus, but for Octavia at least you know it involves Lincoln. 

“You didn’t sleep with her on my bed, did you?” Raven asks, walking in and dropping a freaking tool box in her bed, jostling your legs. You roll your eyes.

 “I didn’t sleep with her at all,” you tell her. “It’s too soon, I don’t want to go too fast.” 

“…You're serious about her,” Raven states. And she and Octavia have known you had feelings for Lexa for a while know, but you guess you’ve never let them know just how serious you were, how deep they ran. 

“Yeah, I am.” 

Raven raises her eyebrows and you laugh, burying your head in her pillow. 

“Shut up.” 

Your phone buzzes beside your head, and you shamelessly hurry to check it. 

“She’s texting you already?” Raven asks. “That’s disgusting.” 

You ignore her, smiling at the text. 

“What did she say?” 

“Finn isn’t going to be there tonight,” you tell her. “I can come over.” 

You get a hoodie from your closet, and change out your pajama pants for a pair of sweats. You’ve walked campus on your night clothes once before, and you’re not looking to repeat the experience. 

“Frat boy Clarke, there she goes!” 

You finish pulling on a pair of boots. 

“Bye, Rae.”

 

 _‘Do you have an umbrella?_ ’ Lexa texts you. 

 _‘It just drizzling’_

_‘It’s raining. You’re going to get sick.’_  

‘Im not. See you in a few’

 

It _was_ just drizzling, but in the time it takes for you to reach her dorm building a storm has fallen down. You pull your hood on, but the damn thing is cotton and water seeps through. You tuck your cell phone into your bra, hoping it won’t get too wet, and jog the last few steps to Lexa’s building. You climb the stairs ridiculously fast, the air conditioning inside making your sorry state even worse.

Your knock on Lexa’s door, and she opens it in a second.

“Clarke!” You wince at her reproach, and step inside. You take off your boots and leave them by the door, sighing at the soft carpet flooring. “Take off those clothes,” Lexa orders, and you smile. 

“Whatever you say, Commander.” You wink at her, and Lexa turns around and fumbles in her drawer for some dry clothes to lend you. She extends some pants behind her back, and a shirt, and you smile at her effort to respect your privacy. The T-shirt is a little tight across your boobs, but you don’t mention that. 

“All done,” you say, and Lexa turns around. “Want to cuddle?” you offer and Lexa smiles. 

“Only because it’s necessary.” 

Once you’re in bed, you don’t mention if it was necessary she’d be the one holding you, so you could get warmer faster. You don't think that would fly too well. Plus, Lexa being the little spoon is adorable. She’s so warm and sweet and pliant, and you feel very full of tenderness for her. 

You let your fingers run over her side, the dip of her waist, her arm,, shoulder. This beautiful, complicated girl wants you back -that’s got to be some sort of magic. You brush her hair away and press a kiss to her neck. Lexa shivers. Your fingertips resume mapping her. 

“Your ears are so cute,” you mention. You nip one and she squeaks. 

Lexa turns around, and you can only admire her laugh for a second before she’s pulling you to her for a kiss. You need to stop smiling so you can kiss her back properly, but it’s a battle. Her lips are warm and soft beneath yours, and you lick your lips taking a taste of hers by accident. It lasts a long moment before you pull away. 

You like Lexa in a multitude of ways, but you love her like this. She’s comfortable here, with you, in a way she wasn’t out there. 

She and Costia dated in secret, you know that much. You won’t push her to tell details, not if she’s not ready, but you know what you need to. You get the feeling she was Lexa’s first love, the only one maybe, and the way it ended still haunts her. Maybe it’s naive of you, but you don’t want it to affect this. 

“Lexa? You know we don’t have to hide around like you and…Costia…used to, right?” you say softly, but she still flinches at the name. You take a deep breathe, and tighten your hand at her waist. “I know-” 

“You don’t,” she says, stopping you. “You don’t know, Clarke. Your parents love you no matter what. They let you date whoever you want. My parents are not like that. The people I grew up around are not like that,” she says. Her eyes hold more pain than you know what to do with. “What if they do something-”

  
“They won’t. They can’t. Do you hear what you're saying? They’d be committing a crime.” Lexa shrugs away and you sit up. It feels like you’re talking to a child. “That’s illegal. There are literally laws-” 

“Do you think they care? The only law my dad abides to is what people will think of him.” Lexa is earnest, but you don’t understand. You can’t. It’s fear, you think, she’s been scared for too long. You’re afraid of many things, but you’re not afraid of her parents. But it’s not about you, it’s about Lexa, and all you want is for her to be happy, to feel safe. 

“So you don’t want them to find out,” you say more than you ask. Lexa doesn’t look at you, but you can tell that’s part of what’s bothering her. 

“My father’s a lawyer clarke. He could get away with anything.” 

“That’s not true,” you argue. “I think…maybe you’ve built him up in your head like this monster but he’s just a person. A hateful shitty man and he cant hurt me, or you.” 

“You don’t know that,” she says quietly, and your blood runs cold. 

“Is that what you’re scared off? That he’ll find out and…and hurt you?” 

You can’t rationalize it, thinking that anyone could put their hands on Lexa. They’d have to go through you.

 “No! No. I live with my mom. We don’t talk much. I’m fine.” 

“But your mom doesn’t approve either,” you say. You bite your lip. “They don’t have to know about us,” you promise. “We’re here, we’re so far away from them. If you want to keep it from them I get it. I’m with you.” 

She looks up at you, and a film of tears covers her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

“No, Lexa.” You lay your hand on her arms, hold her cheek, anything. It feels like you can’t do anything right. “Just talk to me, baby. Just tell me what’s wrong.” 

“My parents aren’t the problem, okay? It’s me.” 

“Don’t say that.” 

“Costia and I snuck around behind their backs for so long before they found out. I don’t know how not to do that. I know they can’t see us but I’m still…It feels wrong to hold hands with you in public.” She dares look up at you when she says it, but there’s nothing but heartbreak to be found in your face. “I don’t know how not to feel like it’s wrong,” she confesses, and the first tear drops from her eyes and rolls down her cheek. Your chest aches. 

You kiss her hard. 

“There’s nothing wrong with this. And I promise that for every person who thinks there is? There’s an army of people who don’t.”

  

 .

 

 

Your throat hurts when you wake up. 

Lexa is positively alarmed when she hears you speak that morning, the soreness making your voice croaky and deeper than usual. 

“It could be an infection from your operation,” Lexa tells you, walking by your side on your way to class. The stitches on your stomach are dissolved, and you stopped taking your pain medication because you forgot, and in any case it didn't hurt anymore.

“Or a cold,” you argue, rolling your eyes. “From walking in the rain last night.” 

Lexa huffs, and you rub her wrist with your fingertips. You pull your hand away but she won’t let you. 

She slips her hand into yours. 

“I’m trying,” she tells you quietly, shyly. You rub the back of her hand with your thumb. You know there’s a lot of crap she has to get pass, and you won’t rush her, you can only be there for her. Help her see that she’s not in her hometown anymore, you’re not Costia. Things can be different; things can be good. But you also know, if someone whispers in your ear enough that everyone will hate you, at some point you start to believe it. 

You can’t imagine it. Having to sneak around and look over your shoulder because your parents can’t handle you like girls. And Lexa’s gone through that, and it didn’t end well. You resolve to be extra gentle to her then. 

You smile, then cough. Lexa sends you a worried look. 

“Shush, I’ll be fine.” 

 

.

 

 You're not fine. The following day you wake up bleary eyed and with a dry, burning throat that only means one thing: you're sick. 

You feel a little better when you go to Lexa’s room that afternoon, after taking a few tablespoons of cough syrup but your throat is still sore, and your head hurts. It’s annoying as fuck. 

When Lexa makes you climb into her bed, though, you play the dutiful patient. She carefully reads the instruction on a bottle of pain meds, her thick rimmed reading glasses sitting primly on her nose. 

“Do you have a nurse kink?” you ask. She ignores you. 

“You can take two of these,” she says, shaking some pills out of the bottle. “It should make the headache go away.” 

“You could just show me a boob,” you say, turning around in her bed. Her eyes blow up wide. “I’m joking Lex. I just feel terrible.” 

“And seeing my boobs would help…?” She sounds a little shaky when she says it. 

“I only asked for one,” you tell her, but decide to cut your joking out. “Would you cuddle me even though I'm sick? I’ll turn the other way.” You’ve never been needy, but if there’s something your trip to the emergency room taught you is that it feels good to be cared for, specially by Lexa. You’re not embarrassed of wanting her to hold you when you feel like crap. You’ve already got a taste for holding her. 

You take the pills and lay back down, facing the wall. The bed dips behind you with Lexa’s weight, and then her arms are around you, delicate but sure. She kisses the nape of your neck, her lips cool and lovely against your over-heated skin. 

You sigh. It’s nice. 

“Hey…” You run your finger up and down her hand. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I know we haven't talked about it.” 

“It’s okay,” she says, kissing your cheek. “And now stop talking.” 

 

.

 

 You go out with Lincoln and Octavia, catching up on that dinner invitation you never made it to so long ago. 

Lincoln and Lexa walk ahead of you, and you hear ‘Anya’ bounced around between them. They get a long extremely well for two people who haven’t really spent too much time together, and Octavia and you walk behind them, observing. You wonder if your eyes look the same as Octavia’s when she’s looking at Lincoln. They’re so full of affection you can see it, and you can’t imagine yours are any different. 

You end up back at her side at the door to the restaurant, a French little place with a vintage feel to it that you hadn’t heard about, but Lincoln has taken Octavia to before. 

You grab Lexa’s hand and kiss the back of it, and you’re glad to see she’s so relaxed that she doesn’t seem to mind the tiny PDA, or even have time to worry about it. 

A thin, old man is your waiter, and he reminds you a little of your grandpa, your dad’s father, that you only visited a few times before he passed away when you were little. He wears a black money apron around his waist, and you wonder if he shouldn’t be retired already -then hope he can’t read minds. He leaves four menus on your booth before going to another table. 

You’re thankful for being left-handed then, because it means you can check out your menu without letting go of Lexa’s hand. 

“Good evening,” the waiter says a little while later, pulling out a notepad from his apron. “Oh, double date, is it?” Lexa tenses up beside you, and her fingers jump like she wants to shove your intertwined hands beneath the table.

“Back in my day that’s the only way they let us date,” he says. “Taught us all about lying for each other.” He laughs at his own words, and you and Lincoln share a smile, your eyebrows raised. “What can I get the happy couples? We have a Lady and the Tramp special tonight. Spaghetti for two for the price of one.” 

“I’d buy that only for myself,” Octavia says. By the time you order, Lexa relaxes beside you. 

All through dinner, you can’t help but think that Lexa and Lincoln really ought to spend more time together. They seem to be on the same wavelength, and you think they’d make good friends. Lexa laughs so hard she doubles over beside you, and you smile more because of her reaction than whatever joke Octavia was telling. If you’re taking your first steps in this relationship, then the night feels as solid as first one as possible. 

You’re not naive enough to think that Lexa feels differently, at her core, because you had a date that went well. She’s been conditioned for so long and by too many factors, and you think it’ll take a while for her to be truly comfortable about your relationship. But it’s a start. 

Back at campus, she lets you kiss her goodnight outside her door. 

 

.

 

 Lexa brings you coffee first thing in the morning (first thing for you, she’s already had a class by the time you wake up) and kisses you awake. She tugs your jacket closed for you before you go into class, and you roll your eyes because your throat barely hurts anymore. The last week of April flies by and with it apparently so do Lexa’s concerns. Neither of you bring up her parents again, and instead you focus on what you have. Cuddling becomes your favorite extra curricular activity, only topped by kissing her for as long as you can.

You’ve never been cheesy, but damn it, you just want to hold her hand. 

 

.

  

Lexa is not alone when you enter her room. 

You recognize the dark blonde hair the minute you step inside, and Anya looks you up and down when you come in.

 “Anya Woods,” she says, before you can greet her. She extends her hand, and you twist your brow. 

“Clarke…Griffin,” you say, shaking her hand slowly. “We’ve met before.” 

“I wasn’t meeting you as the girlfriend back then,” she explains. “I am now. Lexa, would you mind getting me a water bottle from the vending machine?” 

Lexa huffs. You meet her eyes over Anya’s shoulder. She rolls hers. 

“So you can try and intimidate my girl…?” Lexa trails off, pink tinting her cheeks. You’re her girl. You know she was going to say girlfriend, but the rest of the word never made it out. What’s left is just as sweet. Lexa’s girl. Of course you are.

 “Yes, exactly,” Anya says. “I’d like some M&M’s too.” 

Anya looks at Lexa, the same way you’ve seen Bellamy look at Octavia sometimes. You think it might be a patented sibling look. Lexa touches your hand before she leaves, not taking any money with her. 

“Look,I would never hurt Lexa,” you say before she can get a word in. You’ll play along with her big cousin conversation if she wants to, but you don’t need it. The last thing you’d ever do is hurt her. 

“I believe you don't want to hurt her,” Anya says. “That doesn’t mean you won’t do it. If things gets hard-” 

“What are you talking about? She’s the easiest person to l-” You bite your lip. “It would never be hard.”

 “You love her?” Anya asks. 

You take a moment, and then slowly nod. 

“Good. I need you to remember that. Lexa has been through a lot.” She seems genuinely concerned, and at least you have that in common. 

“I know,” you tell her. 

“Then you know how much she’s putting her heart on the line here.” 

“I’ll take care of her,” you promise. You’ve never wanted to do anything more. 

“I hope so.” 

 

.

  

 

“I’ll be leaving you, kid,” Anya says once Lexa comes back inside. “You got an okay one here,” she says, and coming from Anya you think that might be a ringing endorsement. If Lexa’s smile is anything to go by, you’re right.

Anya squeezes Lexa’s shoulder before she grabs her leather jacket -of course- and leaves. You thought you were going along with it, but her approval actually means something. 

“Clarke?” Lexa asks, and you look up at her. She seems nervous. “About what Anya said…What I, said to Anya…” 

“Would you be my girlfriend?” You ask, and you didn’t know you were going to ask it before you did. That might be a theme when it comes to Lexa. It’s barely been a week and a date, a few afternoons of holding her so close in those minutes before you doze up you don’t know where she starts and you end, but you want it all with her, fast or not. 

Her eyes shine, and the sight closes up your own throat. She picks up your hand and you go willingly, when she puts it over her chest. Her heart is beating so strongly underneath your palm. She’s letting her heart do the talking, literally. 

“Yes,” she says, a gives you a watery smile. She leans closer to you and your eyes flutter. You’ve kissed dozens of times in the past few days but it doesn’t get old. 

“You’ll get sick,” you tell her. 

“I have a good immune system.” Her breath bounces off your lips.

“You say the sweetest things.” 

You press a kiss to her lips, and then, because you can’t help yourself, to her cheek and the corner of her jaw. Lexa’s your girlfriend. The word seems too small for what she means to you. You’re Lexa’s girlfriend. You smile so hard it hurts, and when she kisses you again, full in the mouth, your teeth bump. She’s smiling too.

 

 .

 

Your sore throat only lasts another day, and you have to begrudgingly admit to Lexa that she was right about her damn pills. You keep your hypothesis that you made yourself better at will so you could keep kissing her to yourself. 

You lay languidly in Lexa’s bed, petting her hair. There’s only so long you can make out until you need a break. She lays draped on top of you, her thigh between yours, her head resting on your chest. Even with the heat cooling off your skin you feel warm all over. 

“Clarke?” 

“Babe?” You smile at the pet name, and run your hand up and down her spine. She nuzzles against your collarbone, and you wonder at her sudden bashfulness. 

“How many people have you...you know.” 

“…Had sex with?” Oh. You’re not expecting the question, although taking into acount the escalating intensity of your kisses lately, maybe you should have. Lexa nods against your chest. It’s not difficult to think about a number. You like having fun, and you’re not opposed to one night stands, but you’d rather be with one person for a while than have new partners -someone learns what to do and that’s it, it’s better. 

But you’ve also fucked someone against the wall of a club. Suddenly, you feel self-conscious in front of Lexa. 

“…Does that matter to you?” you ask. 

“Not like that, I don’t –It doesn’t matter,” Lexa stumbles over her words. “I just…forget about it. It’s fine.” 

“Five,” you tell her. “My first boyfriend, back in somophore year.” Brian was sweet, and polite, and he followed instructions. You were sixteen back then, fumbling around with what you thought it would feel like and feeling embarrassed when things didn’t go your way, but it was nice. “There was this girl I dated my senior year.” You’re glad you can’t see Lexa’s face when you say the next name. “Niylah.” Lexa herself caught you red handed, and back then you were such an asshole to her you feel shame. “….and two one night stands.” 

A senior guy at a frat party, and a pretty redhead with green eyes that were nothing like what you were looking for. 

“Does that…bother you?” you ask Lexa. She shakes her head. But you don’t know the kind of crap her parents must have raised her on, that she has to unlearn now. 

“There’s nothing wrong with having sex,” you say. “It doesn’t make us better or worse people, it’s just sex.” 

She flinches a little and you feel insecure. You've never been ashamed of what you've chosen to do with your body, but under Lexa’s gaze it’s so easy to feel inadequate. 

“Or...or is it the fact that I’ve had sex with men that -that bothers you?” You’d met a girl once, who stopped flirting with you the moment she found out you were bi and not a lesbian too. 

“No!” Lexa grabs your wrist, sitting up. “It doesn’t bother me. It doesn’t, regardless of what my parents taught me, and not because you like guys too, it’s not -you know I don’t-” 

“Okay,” you stop her, breathing easier. You sit up. 

“You’re perfect,” Lexa says, and you want to cry a little. 

You kiss her palm gently. You’re not, you’re really not, neither of you are, but you see her like that too. 

“It’s just…” Lexa bites her lip, and you want to touch it to stop the abuse. “…what if I don’t measure up?” 

“Oh, Lexa.” You exhale. You don’t need to ask to know that’s what it’s about, the whole thing, and you’re too endeared to tease her. You rub your thumb over her cheek. “You’re the best I’ve ever had and we haven’t even taken our clothes off.” 

 

.

 

 You rub your hand up and down her arm a little later, and her head raises up and down with every breath you take. 

“Lex, have you…?” You’re not shy about sex, you’re not, but you still can’t seem to go ahead and ask. “Are you a virgin?”

Lexa’s older than you, by just shy of six months, and you’d just assumed… 

She shakes her head. 

“…just Costia,” she says. 

You hold her chin softly so she’ll meet your eyes. 

“We don’t ever have to to do anything you don’t want to,” you tell her firmly. 

“But I do,” Lexa says, and it sends electricity running down your limbs. “I want you so much I can hardly breathe sometimes.” 

 

.

  

 Despite your best efforts to ignore it, you actually have classes to attend, and tests to study for from said classes. You don’t have to do it alone though, and that’s the best part. Lexa’s memory trick works even better when she her fingers are the ones trailing over your elbows and wrists and knuckles instead of your own. 

She sits at the head of the bed, her laptop on her lap, typing away at some essay faster than you could ever hope for. There are a good three feet between the two of you because you wanted to get things done tonight. 

It’s why you can see so clearly out of the corner of your eye when her face goes white. 

She’s looking at her laptop but it’s like she’s seen a ghost. 

“Everything okay?” 

She jumps at the sound of your voice. 

“Yes,” she says right away. 

“Are you sure?” You put your book down, concern etched across your face. “Lex?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” She smiles at you, but it’s a little shaky. You cover her ankle with your hand, and she takes a breath. Tension leaves her body. “It was nothing, just some jump scare thing. I’m okay.” 

You smile at her. She’s not ready when you pull her by the ankle, and she slips down the bed.

 “Clarke!” She laughs. “Clarke, my laptop!” 

You grab her laptop off her stomach and put it next to you on the bed. You settle down on top of her, your legs at either side of her hips. 

I love you. You don't say it out-loud but you pour it into your kiss. 

 

.

  

Lexa doesn’t wake you up with coffee the next morning. In fact, you don’t see her the whole morning at all. She texts you right before lunch, when you’re about to walk to her building, and tells you she’s busy with an essay and won’t make it. 

It’s the first time since you got back that you’ve spent any time apart other than when you sleep, and maybe it’s silly, but you miss her. 

“Where’s your better half?” Raven asks when you sit down at the table. 

“Busy studying,” you answer. You don’t think much of it at all. When Lexa cancels dinner too, you begin to. 

It feels like something is wrong and you don't know what it is. Like she’s avoiding you. You’ve managed to convince Lexa Woods, the girl with a perfect attendance record, to play hooky so you can have lunch under campus’ pink cherry tree -an essay wouldn’t stop her.

 Maybe you’re paranoid, but you’re so careful with her, with this relationship you’re trying to build, and you go over the past few days, wondering what you could have done wrong. 

Was it the conversation about sex? But Lexa was fine afterward, and everyone has that conversation. After a few minutes, you decide that you might be overreacting, but it won’t hurt to find out. 

You intersect Finn on the stairs when you’re going up, and it’s only a little embarrassing. 

“Hey, is Woods okay?” he asks you when you’re close enough, and it stops you.

“What? Why?” 

“She’s been in bed all day, I think she’s sick.” 

“Oh.” If Lexa is sick she should have told you. You would’ve been there for her the way she was for you. “I didn’t know.” Finn catches your elbow before you can go up. 

“I’m happy for you two, by the way.” He offers you a smile, tinged with sadness maybe, but honest. 

“Thank you.” 

 

.

 

Lexa is on her side when you open the door, facing the wall. You roll your eyes at her stubbornness, and wonder if she’s even eaten at all today. 

“Babe.” You sit next to her on the bed. “Why didn’t you call me? Lexa?” She doesn’t react at all when you touch her shoulder, and for a moment you think she might be asleep. 

“Lexa?” Her eyes are wide open, and she’s staring off at something beyond the wall, something you can’t see. “Lex, are you okay?”

You wait a long moment until she answers you. 

“I’m not well.” 

“Do you think you caught my cold?” 

She doesn’t answer you. 

“Do you want me to call Anya? I can call my mom if you're sick.” Your voice gets higher each time. She's scaring you. 

She finally turns around to face, moving sluggishly, like a movie that’s been put on slow motion. 

“I’m fine. I just need to sleep.” 

“Lexa…” You lay your hand over her forehead, but it’s cool. Her cheeks are pale.  

You’re worried, but you don’t know what’s going on, why you’re even worried -all you can feel is there’s something wrong. 

You kiss her. 

Lexa doesn’t reciprocate. Her lips shine when you pull away, and even though she meets your eyes there’s no recognition in them, none of the warmth that usually takes over when she looks at you.

It makes you feel powerless. 

“I can stay here-” 

“No.” Her voice is a quiet as ever, but the energy behind the words is the most feeling you’ve gotten out of her in the past few minutes. 

You bit your lip, and nod. And then you remember you’ve seen this before. It’s not the first time Lexa has spent an entire day in bed, unmoving, seemingly unfeeling. Back when you were roommates, you wondered if she even moved at all. 

“Do you want me to go?” You ask her, and your voice sounds thin as paper. 

Lexa turns back around to face the wall, and that is answer enough. 

You walk back to your dorm as if in a trance. 

You’re in love with her, she wants you back, you’re her girlfriend. It’s supposed to be easy sailing from here on. You’re supposed to be living what happens after the happy ever after, the part people don’t usually see because the movie is over. You deserve easy and happy, you both do. It’s supposed to be that way. But Lexa’s dead eyes haunt you.

It’s not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand just three chapters to go. Clarke's surprise arrival doesn't go as expected but it's still good. Remember all those hugs smol sad Lexa needed? She's finally getting them. Lexa's smol ears are cute according to Clarke. Lexa has the actual most awkward way to tell her girlfriend she's nervous about sex, what a poor lil bean.
> 
> Lastly, love doesn’t just fix people, although it helps. Lexa has a lot of stuff she has to deal with regarding her parents and herself. The 'slow burn' part of the fic isn't over just because they've kissed, too. Clarke and Lexa had space to grow into themselves separately, and now they get to do the same together. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and let me know what you though of it.
> 
> ps: In the wake of the Orlando shooting, I was reminded that Lexa’s retincence is not unfounded. Homophobia is painfully real. People like Lexa’s parents are out there, and some of them committ heinous crimes against the LGBT+ community. In the face of that, I’d like to repeat some of Clarke’s words from this chapter. There’s nothing wrong about you, and I promise that for every person who thinks there is, there is an army of people who don’t. I hope this chapter could cheer you up if you needed it, even a little bit.


	22. may, part one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: This chapter has depictions of a panic attack, and a conversation about depression, anxiety and suicidal ideation.

_“I wanted to crawl into her chest and kiss everything that she’d thought I’d hate.”_

 

.

 

You stand outside Lexa’s door for what feels like ages.

You had the worst night’s sleep, turning and kicking off the sheets and turning again as you tried to nod off, but it took hours. Hours you spent thinking about Lexa. She’s never too far from your mind, but last night’s late hour thoughts were so much different than usual. You hate standing by while people are hurt. And when that someone hurting is your friend? Even more, the girl you love? You can’t be passive.

So you set your alarm to the ungodly hour necessary to catch Lexa before she leaves for class, which brings you to standing outside her door, nervous and not in a good way. You’re afraid of what you may find on the other side.

You take a deep breath before knocking on her door. It takes her a minute to slowly open it, and when does she looks surprised to see you.

“Clarke?”

“Morning,” you say weakly.

“Good morning,” she says and she -she looks fine, maybe a little tired, but there’s not a trace of the girl you saw last night. But you did see her, and she haunts you. You walk in.

You pucker up your lips and Lexa gives you a peck in greeting.

The small show of affection makes you feel better already, the normality of it letting you breathe easier and stop feeling like you have to walk on eggshells. This is Lexa, you know Lexa. She wears thick glasses at night and her hair curls like crazy when it rains and she kisses you so softly sometimes it feels like butterfly wings fluttering around your face. This is Lexa. You don’t have to be nervous around her.

“Are you feeling better?” you ask, taking her wrist in your hand and rubbing circles there. “What was up with you last night?”

“It was nothing,” Lexa says, pulling her arm back. She sets to fixing up her bedroom for the day, though it is exceptionally clean already. When you were roommates you discovered her need to leave the bed made and the floor free of clutter before leaving, and it apparently hasn’t changed -though you hadn’t seen her do it since you started dating.

She’s not ignoring you exactly, but she hasn’t answered your question.

“You scared me,” you say quietly, and Lexa turns around at that. She looks at you for a moment before speaking.

“I just wasn't feeling well.”

“But why?” You walk closer to her. “You don’t look sick.”

Her eyes look away from you, stay trained on the floor.

You don’t have to be nervous around Lexa but you are, because you feel so…so wholly insecure, out of place, confused -you don’t know what’s going on with her and that freaks you out. It’s not nothing. If she was feeling sad you want to know why, if she had a stomach ache or fucking cramps or -or anything. You want to be there for her. But she’s putting walls between you like she did before you were friends, you can see them going up.

“Lexa, I’m your girlfriend. I'm supposed to be here for you,” you tell her. You’re pushing, you know you are, but you need to know -to help her. “Is there something wrong?”

“I just had a lazy day,” Lexa says, shrugging. “Needed to recharge.”

“It didn’t look like laziness,” you insist. She barely talked to you, let you go without a word, and to anyone it would feel like nothing but you know Lexa, and you thought you’d broken through her walls, melted her. She acted like the same girl you were roommates with last year, quiet and cold and it scared you. You’re terrified of her pushing you away, and last night was strange.

It was like arriving at a warm, cozy home you’re used to, only to find the lights turned off, and no one home.

“It was almost like you…weren't there.” You reach for her hand again. “Lexa-”

“Can you let it go?!”

You jump at her tone.

Lexa has never yelled at you. Your old roommate, that girl so angry at the world and at you? She used to berate you for anything and you’d hear that tone of voice in the worst days. But the girl you’ve grown to love? The girl who curls into your side after a long day and likes being the little spoon? She doesn’t.

Lexa’s eyes are very wide, darting between you and the door, as if you were going to take off running out of there any second.

She looks like a scared wild animal.

You swallow.

“You can trust me,” you say, hoping she believes you, hoping she’ll let you into the room she has obviously shut you out off, is barricading against you. You won’t take offense to how she lashes out when it’s so clear there’s a reason why- you just don’t know it.

“I do trust you, Clarke,” she says softly, and nothing else.

You hug her before letting her go to her first class, and it’s so tight for a second you can’t breathe.

 

.

 

Your class lets out early. You walk to the dining hall with one of your classmates, Sara, who you’re paired up with for the Art final presentation. She absentmindedly gives you ideas of how to make your presentation less boring, but your mind is not in it. The professor’s mention of how the school year is running out made you realize just how little you’ve planned for the summer. You certainly know who you want to spend it with.

A familiar blue hoodie calls your attention from one of the stone tables outside the dining hall. Lexa wore it this morning, and sure enough she sits there, laptop open.

“Wait.” You touch Sara’s arm, and redirect the two of you to where Lexa sits. Her hoodie is up even with how warm it is outside. “Hey, Lex.” She looks up at you. “Sara, this is my girlfriend, Lexa. Lexa, this is Sara, she’s in my Art class.”

“Hey,” Sara says, and extends her hand to Lexa’s. It takes her a second to to shake it, and you frown a little. She seems out of it.

“Hi,” she says quietly, adding to the awkward atmosphere.

“…Yeah, um.” Sara scratches her arm. “Clarke, I’ll text you later, okay?”

“Sure.”

“Great.” She walks backward and waves. “Bye.”

“Final project,” you say by way of explanation as you drop your backpack, sitting down next to Lexa. “Makes me miss you as a group partner.”

“I was difficult though, wasn’t I?” she asks.

You shrug.

“Eh, you grew on me.” You tease her.

You expect a small smile or a bashful expression, but it never comes.

 

.

 

“Do you want to go out tonight?” The questions comes out of the blue a little later. You’re walking Lexa back to her dorm, and it’s so painfully obvious she’s trying to pretend everything is fine that it catches you off-guard. “You still owe me a date,” she says. “Just the two of us.”

 “I...sure.” She’s close to giving you whiplash, but Lexa hasn’t started any of your dates herself so this has to be a good thing. Either way, you don’t want to ask her if she’s okay again -not after this morning. “Did you want to go somewhere specific?”

 “Uh, No. How about the movies?” she offers, and though with Finn the dinner-and-a-movie combo got old the first time you did it, it’s different with Lexa. Everything is.

 “Okay.” You give her a tentative smile, and she returns it -a bit shaky- but real.

  

.

 

 “You look beautiful,” Lexa says.

 The compliment makes you warm with pleasure -until you see her eyes. You put up your hair and dug out your white shorts from the bottom of your closet, trusting the weather to stay warm enough for you to wear them, with the hope Lexa appreciate it. She looks like she can’t wait for the night to be over, and it hasn’t even begun.

 “Likewise,” you tell her, a bit deflated. She always does. First thing in the morning or simply wearing jeans and a t-shirt, like she is now. Though it’s true you might be biased.

 "Ready to go?”

 “Yeah.” You try to smile, but you spend the entire walk towards your car looking at her from the corner of your eye, wondering if she looks paler than she did this morning.

 

.

 

The movie theater is packed, loud, there are little kids running around and from their parents and the air smells of pop corn and candy.

 You can’t help but look at her from the corner of your eye the whole time. It seems like her head is somewhere else.

 “How were your classes today?” you ask.

 “...Okay. Yours?”

 “Good. Just one more Art assignment and the semester is over.”

 Lexa nods.

 You reach over and hold her hand, and she doesn’t protest.

 “You okay?” you ask softly.

 “What? Yeah, of course.”

 

.

 

You might not be crazy about reading the comics or know much about the source material, but you do enjoy a good Marvel movie.

You eat most of the pop-corn Lexa and you are supposed to be sharing during the first 15 minutes of the movie, and don’t regret it in the least because it means you can hold her hand with both of yours.

The movie is loud and full of action and fun, and it feels normal, something mindless to do with your girlfriend to forget about yesterday. 

You don’t notice, at first.

 You let go of Lexa’s hand to take your shoes off and curl your legs under you, and it’s a good ten minutes after when you notice the death grip she has on the arm rest.

 “Lexa?”

 She jumps when you touch her, curls in on herself. She’s breathing hard and fast.

 “Lexa? Lexa, look at me.” It’s too dark to see her properly, but she’s covering her face now and your throat is closing up with fear. “Is something wrong?”

 “Shut up!” a man says from the row in front of you.

 “Do you want to get out?” She doesn’t answer, but you pull on your shoes quickly and then you’re grabbing her by the waist. “Come on.”

 The hallway outside is empty and Lexa just -she collapses against the wall. Her eyes are squeezed shut, and her chest rises with shallow breaths. Tears leak from the corner of her eyes and she looks so fucking distressed it kills you.

 You kneel next to her, your brain trying to rush and think-

“Breathe, okay? Lexa, I need you to breathe.” She’s having a panic attack, you’ve seen this before. You grab her hands, tight. “Breathe, baby.”

 “Are you alright?” Someone asks, and you look up to meet the concerned stare of one of the cinema’s employees.

 “Yes, we’re fine!” You focus on Lexa, your hand touching her ice-cold cheek. A distressed whimper leaves her lips. “Breathe for me, okay?” You rub your thumbs over cheeks, and she grabs your wrists, squeezing them. Her breaths begin to slow down. “That’s it. You’re okay, you’re safe.”

 Painfully slow, it begins to subside.

 “Should I call an ambulance, m’am?” The employee asks again.

 A low, bedraggled ‘No’ leaves Lexa’s lips.

 “No,” you repeat to the man, who looks unconvinced. “Are you okay to walk?” you ask Lexa gently. She nods.

 

 .

 

“Are you okay?” you ask once you’re both inside the car.

 “I feel better,” she promises.

 “Lexa-”

 “Can we just go? Please.”

 

  .

 

The ride back is quiet.

 Quiet except for the sniffles coming from the passenger’s seat. You reach over the console to touch Lexa -try to comfort her somehow- but she pulls away from you.

 “Lexa? Talk to me.”

 “I’m fine,” she says, sounding way too choked up for that to be true, but it’s so dark you don’t want to take your eyes off the road.

 

.

 

 “You had a panic attack,” you say, though you’re sure Lexa knows that already. It’s the only you can think of touching the situation. Upfront. The school’s parking lot is empty, and you had the entire drive over to think about what happened. “Raven used to get them, you know?” you tell Lexa. “After the accident. She’d get so nervous just getting on a car she’d hyperventilate.”

 It’s not yours to tell, but you know Raven won’t mind, specially not if it could help someone. And Lexa needs not to feel alone.

 “I had one too, once. Before Well’s funeral.” You reach over the car console for her hand. She’s so cold. “They fucking suck.”

 She looks at your intertwined hands.

 “I’m fine,” she says. “I just want to go to bed.”

 

. 

 

Lexa’s building is still alive with people, most of the lights turned on and people on the hallways.

 Her floor is emptier, but you see the back of Finn’s shirt as he walks into their shared room and know there’s no chance for you to be alone. There’s no way you’re leaving her.

 Lexa hasn’t said much since you got out of the car, but she looks so pale and exhausted it twists your insides.

 “Wait here, okay?” you ask her.

 You pull out your cell phone and dial the first name under favorites, taking a few steps away. It only rings twice.

 “Octavia? Can you stay with Lincoln tonight?” you ask right away.

 “Um, I was planning to anyway, Lincoln’s roommate is gone again. What’s up?”

 “Can you ask Raven to stay there? Maybe get her to sleep in Anya’s bed. I need our room.” You say.

 “…I guess, sure,” she says. “Be safe, kids.”

 “It’s not like that. I just…thank you, O.”

 There’s silence on the other side of the line.

 “Is everything okay?”

 “Yeah,” you say. “Yeah, I hope so.”

 

 .

 

“Would you spend the night at my room?” you ask Lexa, expecting a negative. “It’ll be just us. We can talk.”

 Lexa nods.

 Finn is laying on his bed with his earphones on when you walk in. You wave at him half-heartedly, and after a quick glance he gets neither of you want to talk.

 Lexa grabs a pair of pajamas and stuffs them in her backpack, not bothering to take out her books from the day. You take it from her hands and put it over your shoulder.

 

 .

 

You’ve never been more glad to have a bathroom in your dorm room. Lexa takes a hot shower at your prompting when you get there, and it gives you time to think. You think you might understand the meaning of 'worried sick'. Your stomach rolls uncomfortably when you remember Lexa's lost eyes the day before or her anguish in the movie theater.

Lexa walks out of the bathroom wearing pajams, her wet hair creating a dark stain on the fabric.

 “Warm baths used to help Raven,” you tell her. “I thought a hot shower would do.”

 “It was nice,” she says. She seems tentative, careful. “I’ve missed showering without flip-flops.” She tries for a smile. You don’t fall for it.

 “Lexa, what’s going on?” You ask, a little louder than intended, and she flinches.

 “I’m fine-”

 “And don’t say that. I’m sorry if you don't want to talk, I'm sorry if this is the wrong thing to do but I'm worried about you and…and I don't know what to do. You don't seem okay. And tonight …you scared me to death.”

 You don't know what else you can do or say to get her to see you’re there, right there, and you just want her to be okay.

 “I’m sorry.”

 “I don’t want you to apologize, Lexa. I just…I want to help. What’s wrong?” You’re surprised by how rough your voice sounds, but you’re bordering on desperate. You kneeled down in the dirty floor of a movie theater while you’re girlfriend fell apart in your arms, and you’re not quite sure what to do with it yet, specially not when said girlfriend keeps trying to brush everything off.

 “Lexa-”

 “I wanted to die with her.” Lexa’s expression doesn’t change. The words are simple, and now they’re out there.

“Costia?”

Lexa nods, but she’s no longer looking at you.

“When she died…I wanted to die with her,” she says, and her words shock you. You cant imagine a world in which Lexa isn’t alive.

“She was…After my parents found out about us, she was the only good thing I had. Even if we weren’t talking… I was young and stupid, I thought there would be a way for us in the end.”

“Lexa, I’m sorry.”

She sits down on the bed next to you, her eyes trained on the floor.

“She had her hand up my skirt.” She’s matter of fact as she speaks, but you get the feeling the words have never left her lips before. They sound like a confession more than anything. “We were supposed to be studying and my mom came in. Costia was kissing me and her hand was up my skirt. No plausible deniability, no way for us to deny… there was no doubt to what was going on.” A bitter smile twists Lexa’s lips into something ugly.

“I’d never been so scared. My mom dragged her out of my room, she was livid. She...she kept calling her names. I kept thinking I should have said something but I just stood there and let my mom kick her out.” Lexa meets your eyes briefly. “That’s what I kept remembering, you know? A few weeks later, after the accident. That the last time we were together I didn’t defend her.”

“You were just a kid,” you object.

“I was 16. Old enough to have a girlfriend behind my parent’s back but not to defend her when they found out.” Lexa bitterly shakes her head.

“They told me she lost her head.”

Suddenly you want to throw up. Lexa’s voice is both raw and faint, lost somewhere you’ve never visited.

“I couldn’t have known. Her parents cremated her. There was a service. Afterward they packed up their store and left and then it was like she never existed.”

She touches her neck but seems surprised to find nothing there. The ring. She doesn’t wear it anymore.

“They had a store, you know? Candles. Incense…antiques. My dad always said it was hippie bullshit. They left and they took the last I had of her with them.” Her shoulder drops even further. “My dad wasn’t even sorry. He kept making comments about her and my mom would tell him not to speak ill of the dead. That was somehow worse. When my dad spoke about her, he did it with such hate that it made me feel she was still alive. Like…maybe he was worried she’d called me when he was at work.”

You feel her pain like it was your own, and your eyes burn with the effort to hold back tears. You can’t imagine such hate, and never against one of the purest, most beautiful people you’ve ever known.

Lexa looks like the faintest wind might knock her over, but you can still see how it’s probably one of the bravest things she has done.

“I wouldn’t eat, after a while. Nothing tasted good. I would… sleep. Sleep the whole day because when I did…I would dream about her. She’d be there and she’d be alive. And then I stopped dreaming. I just slept because I was tired. Tired of everything. Even…breathing…felt heavy. After a few weeks my friends started going out again, talking about her and laughing and…and the few times my mom convinced my dad to let me out of the house, I couldn’t. I couldn’t even think of laughing.

“At home…my dad was convinced what I had with Costia was a phase. That she was bad influence and I’d grow out of it. I wanted to believe that, you know. For a while I tried to convince myself that I was bi, that I could…date a guy and make my parents happy with me again. But I knew better. And it felt like an insult to Costia. She made me feel okay about being a lesbian. She was the first person I ever told.” Lexa swallows hard. “I just wanted her back.”

You can’t take it anymore, and move closer to hold her hand in yours. It’s a fickle support, but you want her to know you’re there.

“And then…one night, I heard my dad telling my mom about conversion therapy. I literally couldn’t be in that house anymore. I found out where my uncle Gustus lived and I went there. Anya lent me some of her clothes and Gus took me to talk to my parents the next day. He asked my mom to get me help.”

Lexa has told you this before, you know of her parent’s divorce and how guilty she felt.

“I felt like I’d never be happy again,” she says. “And I didn't want to be. I just wanted things to..be done.”

Your heart lurches in your chest.

“Lexa…”

“My mom listened to Gus. She and my dad fought a lot over that. And then my mom asked him if he’d rather have a dead daughter or a living one and when he answered…she told him to get out of the house.” She looks up at you. “It was the first time I’d seen her talk back to him. So she took me to someone, and after my first appointment she told me they were getting a divorce.”

Lexa pulls her hand away from yours, and you try to chase it but she won’t let you.

“I...uh…”

“Lexa.”

“I was diagnosed with depression and anxiety. I used to take medication for it. I’ve gotten better but sometimes, I… I can still have bad days.”

You nod. You absorb the information slowly.

“I’m sorry,” Lexa says. “I should have told you before. This isn’t what you signed up for-”

“Lexa, no.”

“Tonight? That’s what being with me means, Clarke.” She shakes her head. “I thought I could…I'm not good. I'm not good for you. I cant even be with you in public without thinking of everything that could go wrong. My parents cant know about us. I cant even get through a fucking movie without feeling like I’m going crazy.”

You grab her hand in her lap and doesn’t shake you off this time.

“I felt…heavy, for so long,” she says. “I used to wake up and go all day just waiting to go back to sleep. But this? Us? I feel awake again. And still…like I don’t deserve it, or it cant be real, or, or…it’ll end badly. And I keep thinking that I'm going to drag you down with me. I keep asking myself why would you want me?” She meets your eyes. “Why would you stay?”

Your heart beats double time, overflowing with everything you feel for her.

“You know why,” you tell her, and hope she can see it in your eyes.

“Clarke…”

“I can’t promise you things will be perfect but I can tell you I’ll always be here. Please trust that. I won’t ever leave you alone.”

It’s on Lexa now. She can either run or she can stay.

 Both your hearts are on the line as she stares at you, lips slightly parted and deep green eyes made ligther with wetness.

 She throws her arms around you as her mouth collides with yours.

 The kiss is short and desperate, and tastes of salt from your lips, not hers. Lexa isn’t crying. She just looks relieved, exhausted.

 She just lays down on you like her body is too heavy for her to carry and it’s okay. You can do it for her for a night.

 Now you know.

 You slowly caress her back, and Lexa burrows further into you.

  

 

“You were crying the first day of class,” you mention, your fingers brushing down Lexa’s hair.

“I was? I don't…I don’t remember much of those first few weeks but,” she shrugs a little, “I was in a bad place.”

 “I'm sorry. I was a bitch to you.”

 “I wasn't nice either.”

“If I’d known-”

 “It’s not an excuse. Don't ever let me off easy because it’s not an excuse. Clarke-”

 “Okay.”

 

  

“Have you ever felt like that again?” you ask quietly. The answer terrifies you. “Like you…” You try to clarify, realizing she can’t read your mind. “Like…”

 “Suicidal?” she asks, and the words spoken out loud make it seem all the more real. You nod, right up against her shoulder. You can’t see her face from where you are but you don’t want to pull away and give up the soft warmth that is her in this moment.

 “No,” she says. “It was almost three years ago, I’m better now.”

 

  

“I caught you crying in your sleep once. I didn't say anything and you didn't wake up. It was before we were…before we got close. You looked so sad.” You nudge her cheek with your nose. “I might have stayed with you until you stopped.”

 She presses her lips to yours, quick and dry, just a touch that feels more like an ‘I’m here’ than anything else.

 “Thank you.”

 

 

 “Exercise helps.”

 “Is that why you did push-ups at 3 in the morning?” Her behavior while you were roommates becomes more and more clear, and you feel awful now, for how you acted, for not realizing she was going through a rough patch.

 Lexa nods.

 “Sometimes it gets too loud up here and I need…to drown it out. I used to tire myself out when I was too anxious to sleep.”

 “What does it feel like?” you ask softly, you’re not sure why. You don’t expect much of an answer but Lexa thinks about it for a long moment.

 “Like my skin is all wrong,” she says. “Like I want to jump out of it. Like I can’t sit still but at the same time I don’t want to move.” She shakes her head, looking embarrassed all of the sudden. “I don’t know.”

 “Hey, you can talk to me. Always.”

 You hold her face, your thumb caressing her cheek gently. She presses her lips to your palm, her eyes never straying from yours -it feels like the most intimate thing you’ve ever done. I love you, I love you, it’s clawing it’s way out from your throat. But you have time. Time that feels like a gift.

 

 

 “Would you rather be alone?”

 You’ve been asking yourself if walking away was the right move, even if she didn’t want you there. You might not understand yet, and probably you never will -but you just want to do right by her. During those bad days, do you need to leave her by her self? Can’t you help?

 “I don’t want you to see me like that,” Lexa says. “I’m not much fun.” She tries for a joke.

 “But would you rather be alone?”

 She takes a while to answer.

 “I don’t know. No one has stayed.”

 You know anger. You know red, raw anger like an old friend. You wanted to kill the girl who ran Wells of the road, who got herself drunk and took your best friend’s life and your best friend’s leg. You wanted to kill her but she was dead already.

You want to hurt whoever hurts Lexa, you hate her parents and everyone who ever harmed her whether they meant to or not. But now you know what hurts her the most it’s herself, its her own head and there’s nothing external you can blame then, nothing but her own beautiful, complicated brain. You've seldom felt so helpless.

  

 

Lexa falls asleep like that, burrowed in your arms, finally succumbing to the exhaustion of the night.

 A look at your cell phone lets you know it’s bordering on 1am.

 You don't go to sleep. Instead, you google anxiety. Depression. Scroll through endless pages on your cell phone about it. You still remember the really awful days after Wells died and it sounds like it, but you and your friends got past that. You never felt like losing hope, like it wasn’t worth it to keep living.

 You don’t know the extent of it but it terrifies you that Lexa had.

 Lexa squirms in your arms and you hush her.

 “I’m here.”

 “Clarke?” 

“I’m here, baby.”

 “I’m a mess,” she says quietly, voice rough.

 “You’re not.”

 “I’m technically, literally mentally ill.”

 “I know.”

 “I have a shit ton of baggage.”

 “And I have a good back.

 Her eyes are very wide when they look back at you, more awake, and she doesn’t give other interjections, no more protests to you offering to carry that weight with her. 

She looks at you and you see it in her eyes, even if she doesn’t say it out loud. It’s written there as clear as day.

 It’s okay, you can wait.

 You kiss each of her fingertips, minuscule ‘I love you’s’ pressed into her skin.

“You’re tired, go back to sleep.”

 


	23. may, part two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I'm back! And this 10k monstrosity is my apology for the ridiculously long wait. 
> 
> Regarding the fic: as you may notice we have three chapters to go now, since I split up the last chapter in two. There is also a companion fic/sequel called "I live inside myself (and it's a rotting cage)" which is in Lexa's POV, about ten chapters long, and it covers her time in highschool, Costia, the summer before college, this fic, and a few weeks after this fic ends. I will post the first chapter after I post the last one here, since it's already mostly written.
> 
> Also, if you like my writing, I posted the 1st chapters to two new aus, and you can find them [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7535380/chapters/17131267) (clexa married with children in the middle of a natural disaster au) and [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7492050/chapters/17028459) (Lexa adopts a baby and hires Clarke to help her out au).
> 
> Without further ado, I apologize for the long wait and I hope you enjoy this chapter.

_“You’ll meet her, she’s very pretty, even though sometimes she’s sad for many days at a time. You’ll see, when she smiles, you’ll love her.”_ _Pan’s labyrinth_

_._

_._

_._

 

 “Clarke?”

It’s chilly. That’s the first thing you notice, your toes are chilly, and your head is heavy and tired. But the bed is warm, and when you turn to your side your arms collide with a warm body. It comes back at once, last night and the heavy atmosphere and tears and Lexa. You open your eyes at once, meeting green ones too close to focus on.

“Lexa…” You pull away a little so you can look at her. You force the fog of sleep to clear from your mind. Lexa’s eyes are a little swollen, but the dark bags beneath her eyes are already receding with a single night of sleep. You cup her cheek gently, and your chest caves in when she closes her eyes and leans against your touch. Last night was hard for her, you know that, and you’re so glad to see she is not pushing you away.

“I have to go to class,” Lexa says. She lifts her hand to cover your own. “I didn’t want to leave without telling you.”

You frown. “You're going?”

Lexa nods, her cheek dragging over the pillow you share.

“Yes, I have to.”

You don’t want her to leave. You don’t want her to retreat into her shell and shut you out, or pretend last night didn’t happen. You’re tired, you can’t even imagine how Lexa must feel.

“Don’t go,” you say, and instantly you are met with the shake of her head. “Aren’t you tired?” you ask gently, because it doesn’t make sense that she can’t skip a single class when she has never missed a lesson. Surely she can afford to sleep in, or be late. You wouldn’t think twice about it. You remember her curled into herself at the movie theater last night, the pure anguish you saw her go through, and can’t believe she would put her education above her health.

And then you remember everything you read last night and you don’t know if it’s okay to ask, you don’t want to mention your conversation out loud. But you realize you can’t make it taboo. Lexa trusted you enough to let you know everything, and you want to honor that.

“Does this have to do with last night?” you ask. “I mean…Is it part of having anxiety or-”

“My professor is going to hand out the topics for our last exam, I have to go,” Lexa says.

“Oh. Okay.”

Lexa looks conflicted for a second, biting her lip.

“And…yeah.” She breathes out. “I mean, it doesn’t sit well with me to skip classes. I don’t…I don’t really talk to anyone in that class to ask what they did, and if I skip it I will arrive at the next with no idea on what to do and that makes me...” She trails off. “And I can’t get bad grades.”

You nod.

“I get it.”

Lexa looks relieved at that, and presses her forehead to yours, breathing in.

It’s soft and quiet and warm, and you could live here, right here in this moment, forever.

“Wish I could stay,” Lexa whispers, her breath bouncing off your lips. She pulls away before you can move forward and close the space.

Your sleepy eyes follow her as she goes into the bathroom, and you doze for a few minutes until she comes back out, her hair significantly tidier.

You roll to the edge of your bed, the wooden railing the only thing keeping you from falling face-first to the floor far below. Lexa stands on the tips of her toes to press a kiss to your lips, and something about the action makes your heart squeeze in a good way.

“Sorry,” she says.

“It’s okay,” you tell her. “Lexa…”

“I’m okay.”

“Promise?”

She smiles, and it’s small and it’s tired but it’s the most real one you’ve seen in the past two days.

“Yeah.” She drops down to her normal height. “Thank you, Clarke. For everything.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” you protest. You’re her girlfriend, for crying out loud.

Lexa shrugs, and gives you one last short, sucking kiss before she’s out the door.

 

  
.

 

  
It’s Friday, barely brushing past 6:30 am. The room descends into quiet the second Lexa leaves, and part of you wants to turn around and just go right back to sleep. You finally succumbed to it some four hours ago, but considering Lexa, tired as she was, is out there being a good student, you don’t think you have the right.

You catch sight of your laptop teetering on the edge of the mini-fridge, and climb down the bunk bed to get it. It’s early enough that your parents could still be having breakfast before going to work. You could do that.

You plop down on your bed and turn on your laptop. The Skype ring tone almost puts you back to sleep in the time it takes your parents to answer.

“Been a while since we’ve seen your face, stranger,” your dad says, coffee in hand.

“Sorry. I’ve been-” A yawn interrupts your sentence. “-busy.”

“Are classes getting hard?” your mom asks. “Only one month to go.”

“Not really, no,” you tell her. A corner of your mouth lifts up in a smile. You’d never admit this, but you missed talking to them. “But I do have a girlfriend,” you tell them. The gray clouds of the last two days lift when you share the news. You can’t believe it took you this long to tell them.

“Oh, that’s great, honey!” your mom says.

“It is Lexa we’re talking about, right?” your dad asks, teasingly.

“Yes, it is Lexa.” You roll your eyes.

“When are you bringing her home?” Your mom asks.

“She’s such a sweet kid. We’d like to get to know her better,” your dad adds.

You imagine Lexa meeting your parents - _really_ meeting them and spending time together-, and you’re surprised by how much you want it to happen. Your parents -their teasing and bad jokes and worrying about your diet included- are amazing. Even more so, they have always wholeheartedly accepted you and your friends, and you want that for Lexa.

Yet when you think of time, it hasn’t been very long since you started dating. And Lexa has always been so touch-and-go when it comes to you two…it’s a big step.

“I don’t know. It’s a little too soon.”

“Well, we’re really happy for you, kid,” your dad says.

“I’d tell you not to let Lexa distract you from schoolwork, but I bet she’d be the one telling you to study,” your mom tells you.

She’s not wrong.

Lexa is too responsible for her own good. You’re still tired after last night, and you can’t even imagine how Lexa must be feeling as she actually went to attend class. It’s part of who she is…or so you think. It’s hard to separate what is her own behavior and what is something she can’t control, if there’s even a difference at all. And yesterday at the movie theater…

“Clarke, is everything okay?” your mom asks, concern clear in her voice. You shake your head.

“Yeah, just…late night.”

“Do we want to know?” your dad asks, and you roll your eyes.

“We went to the movie theater, you people,” you explain, because you don’t know how much you can share with them. You want to talk to your parents about Lexa, you want your mom’s opinion because after all, she is a doctor -but, it’s not yours to say.

You talk to your parents for a little while longer, promise your mom that you’re eating more than junk food (and you are, because your girlfriend is strict about her veggies and it’s rubbed off on you) and agree to ‘calling them sometime in the next century’ according to your dad.

It’s always there, muted but present, the missing them. You used to think you missed home but you’ve realized that’s not the city or the house but people, your parents…the girl clutching you in her sleep last night.

Octavia was right, oh so long ago; home is a good place to rest.

 

  
.

 

  
“Costia’s parents were nice to me.”

Lexa’s fingers are shiny with the grease of the samosas you picked up for her earlier, and those along with an assortment of food -including fries from McDonalds- are spread out over her bed.

Her room is empty, and most people are probably at the dining hall for dinner, so it almost feels like you have the building to yourselves.

Lexa speaks with her hands, more than you’ve ever seen her do. You drink in the sight. It’s like she’s not afraid to take up space.

“They had this shop.” She takes a drink from her orange juice. “I told you about it, right? Her mom used to gift me candles every week. My bedside table started looking like an altar.” There is a very soft smile on her face, her eyes trained on the mattress but looking at something far away. She looks up at you. “And her dad and I used to talk about baseball because Costia and her mom hated it.”

“I didn’t know you liked baseball,” you say softly. You’re in awe of her, you always are, but you’ve seldom seen her so lively and it stings a bit, that you’re not the cause.

“I don't.” The smile falls away from her face, the unspoken ‘not anymore’ fills the space between you all the same.

You wonder who Lexa was before everything with Costia happened. It’s not the first time that it enters your mind, but knowing how it’s changed her, you don’t know how to separate the girl of the ghosts that haunt her, if you even can. Maybe it’s just a part of her now, that loss, that you still can’t begin to comprehend. If you had to name the look on her face when speaking about Costia’s parents you’d call it ‘wistful’.

“You loved them.” It’s not a question. Lexa nods.

“I wanted them to be my parents,” she says. ”Or for my parents to be more like them.” She shrugs, and digs through the food until she finds the spring rolls.

It’s clearer now, how she didn’t just lose a love, but an entire family, a future she’d pictured for herself. Even if she was only 16, you can hear it in her voice how she thought she’d build a live with Costia…join her family. For a second you don't know how you can compete with the love she holds for a dead girl. But then you see the glint in her eyes, the way for the first time the pain doesn't overwhelm them.

It’s a soft sort of sadness. A delicate gauze instead of ripped sheets.

She’s sharing memories with you, and you love her, you love every part of her. This might be her way to show you she feels the same. She’s telling you things not many people have heard, she’s sharing the things that hurt, and you’re keen to keep jealousy at bay. There’s no room for it when you’re entire self is concerned with handling Lexa’s heart with care.

“I’m sorry,” Lexa apologizes, when you’ve been quiet for too long. “I’ve never really talked to anyone about them. About any of it.”

“And your psychiatrist?”

“Not everything. I…I couldn’t. He was a stranger, and my mom spoke with him after every session because I was a minor-”

“You can talk to me.”

Her eyes are so earnest, so honest and thankful, when she answers.

“I know.”

 

  
.

 

  
“…just volleyball, and track. But I never really competed…my parents didn’t want it to affect my grades.”

“O’s been in one soccer team or another since we were freshmen.”

Your brow knots as you fight through the layers of sleep. Bits and pieces of conversations from below make their way to your ears.

“She was the shortest one for so long,” Raven says, and you can hear what sounds like huff -probably from Octavia. “The most aggressive one too. Like a pitbull puppy.”

The resounding laugh wakes you up fully.

Lexa’s laugh, sweet and light. You twist to peer over the edge of your bunk.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” Raven exclaims, but your eyes are on Lexa. She’s wearing jeans and a white t-shirt, and a beanie she’s entirely too cute in. More than that, she’s smiling at you, and it makes your chest tingle. You can’t stop staring. Raven notices. “We were just entertaining you girl for you,” she says.

“We’ll be on our way now,” Octavia tells you, picking up her back and giving Raven a hand to stand up. “Refrain from jumping each other until the door is closed, please and thanks.”

Lexa’s cheeks flare pink with the comment.

“And we’re still on for dinner tomorrow, don’t bail,” Octavia says.

She winks at you before the door is closed, and you and Lexa are left alone. Your best friends happy for you, even if they grumble about how little time you spend with them now that you have a girlfriend. O was the same with Lincoln, at first, and they get it, even if they don’t know the whole story.

“Hi,” you tell Lexa, drinking in the sight of her now there’s no one else around to tease you about your thirst. Not that it’s ever stopped you before.

“I brought you coffee and breakfast,” Lexa says, clasping her hands in front of her. You notice a brown bag on your desk.

“I’m on my pajamas,” you tell her.

“Considering you were asleep a minute ago, that’s understandable,” she says, winking at you.

You’re just this side of surprised.

“Someone’s in a good mood,” you point out.

“Come down, Rapunzel,” Lexa says instead of answering. “Your coffee’s getting cold.”

You climb down the steps carefully, still a bit disoriented after what felt like a solid 8 hours of sleep. You smile to yourself when Lexa’s eyes trail over your body, the camisole and the short shorts dotted with hearts. You wear them because it’s comfortable, but you think Lexa appreciates them. It’s the most bare you’ve in front of her.

You take a step back when she leans down to join your lips -her boots give her an inch or two more of height and you find you like it. Even if it makes you a little self-conscious.

“Morning breath,” you say, apologetic. Lexa looks like a dream, the least you could do is brush your teeth.

“I don’t care,” she says, cupping your cheek. When she leans down again you comply and kiss her, pointedly keeping your lips closed.

She groans softly, her nose scrunching up in displeasure at the chaste kiss. You laugh.

“Give me a second, okay?”

Your coffee is still hot when you come out of the bathroom, and you share it.

 

  
.

 

 

  
You lay next to Lexa on her bed, your leg thrown over one of hers and your hand on her stomach.

Your mouth is kiss swollen and a hickey blooms in Lexa’s neck, and you’re both quiet. You can’t make out indefinitely, and on those instances where you literally take a breather, Lexa is silent, pensive. You just catch your breath.

Lexa doesn’t feel the need to fill silence with words, and you’ve begun to appreciate that. You’re the opposite, most of the time, always with people, always talking. Even when you are by yourself your mind often wanders, and you end up procrastinating your work. You need music when you paint and when you study. You don’t like silence much, but you do enjoy Lexa’s.

She toys with the hem of your shirt, and every time the pads of her fingers touch your bare skin a slight shivers runs through you.

You’re uncomfortably wet from your make out session, but Lexa was the first one to pull away, pressing smaller and smaller kisses to your neck, and you won’t ever push for more. To be honest, you’re not used to kisses not being a lead in for more.

The grand number of two relationships you’ve had were mostly just for fun, and you can’t ever remember kissing them just to kiss them, not like you do with Lexa. Taking her lips between yours or licking into her mouth it’s its own sort of magic, perfect in itself, and you don’t expect it to turn into more. You’re also surprised by the nerves that invade you when you think about that.

You’ve always liked sex too much to deprive yourself of it, but this is the first relationship you’ve had where you’re positive it wouldn’t be just sex. It’s daunting. You want it. But you’re letting Lexa set the pace, and you’re okay with that. It only makes every touch and every kiss that much achingly sweet.

“Tell me a story,” Lexa asks quietly.

“A story?”

She nods.

“About what?” you ask, playing along. From where you are you can’t see her expression, only the corner of her jaw and the delicate slope of her neck. You trail your finger over her collarbones.

“Anything,” she says, and her voice wavers slightly. “About you,” Lexa says.

You nod against her shoulder.

Lexa almost feels like a part of you, like she’s taken root inside your ribcage, and you can’t deny her, not this and not anything. It’s shocking to realize this time a year ago you didn’t know her. You have stories to tell. You and your friends were always close and adventurous and entirely trusted on by parents, and you have more than one late-night parking lot adventure or party that got out of hand. But you find the things you want to tell her aren’t the picture perfect images of high-school nor the fumbling embarrassments of childhood.

“When I was 16, Octavia and me got into a huge fight,” you start. “I don’t even remember what it was about anymore, but Raven sided with her and I was pissed. And then Wells told me I should just apologize so I got mad at him too. I was so angry I didn’t speak to any of them in a week.” You remember how you used to be, at 15; short and chubby but growing into yourself, trying too hard to be taken seriously and with a short fuse to booth. Quick to anger but quicker to forgive-if you loved them. You could hold a grudge for years; hell, you still can. “There were these boys at our school. They smoked pot beneath the bleachers and skipped class a lot. It was like a fucking John Green book.”

“You don’t like to read,” Lexa points out.

You don’t, but you’ve never actually told her that. It dawns on you that Lexa notices, that maybe before you were just too dumbstruck to see it but perhaps you hold her attention the same way she does yours.

“No, but I still know the…typical, problem kids archetype thing. God, they were a walking stereotype.” You feel your cheeks warm, regretting your 15 year old self actions, the fact that you at some point found it cool, even fully knowing it was dumb as shit.

“What happened?” Lexa asks.

You close your eyes.

“Okay, first of all, we were cool in high school-”

“You were cool in high-school,” Lexa repeats, the corner of her mouth lifting up in a mocking smile.

“Shut up.” You push her shoulder, and Lexa laughs.

“I haven’t said anything,” she protests.

“What was it you told me? Mockery is not-”

She quiets you with her lips. For a few seconds all you can feel is the warmth of her body above yours and the wet heat of her mouth, and when she pulls away it takes your ideas a second to get back in order.

“We were popular,” you say, correcting yourself. “But we still cared, you know? Raven was crazy about science and O was in the soccer team, and I helped our teacher with this art summer classes my school would offer for little kids. We had our little things. These guys were just…dicks. And I was mad at my friends so I started hanging out with them that week.”

Lexa pulls back, settling down next to you. By the look on her face she’s taking you seriously.

You’re thrust back to who you used to be, when your biggest concern was Algebra class and knocking heads with Octavia. You’re ashamed of that girl, even if you miss her at times, because she thought it was right to yell at her mother for not letting her out past midnight, and fought with Wells because of stupid things. She was carefree, hadn’t been touched by pain yet. You’re letting Lexa see that girl, letting her know the parts of you she wasn’t around to witness, that you aren’t too proud of.

“They were…gross,” you continue. “They would talk about the most disgusting fucking things during lunch. And I wanted them to think I was cool so I wouldn't say anything. I had that golden girl reputation and I wanted to…I don’t know.” You shrug. It made a lot more sense when you were 15. “That literally sounds like textbook peer pressure, and I knew it was dumb, but I still did it,” you say.

Lexa nods. You know she’s not judging you, but you’re still embarrassed.

“I went with them after school one day. Wells had walked up to me and told me that Octavia wanted to talk and I should go with him, but I was still mad, so I turned around and got on the back of one of their bikes.” You still remember the rush of adrenaline you got doing something you knew you weren’t supposed to do. “I knew my mom would’ve killed me if she’d found out I did that, and without a helmet.”

You bitterly remember Wells berating you afterward because ‘you could have died’.

Lexa’s eyes widen at your words, and a stab of fear pierces your stomach, that she will judge you for the dumb things you did when you were fifteen. But a fast motorcycle ride with no helmet wasn’t the dumbest.

“I stole a pack of cigarettes from a 7-Eleven for them,” you tell her, looking to the roof of her room. Your don’t want to meet her eyes. “I’d never done anything like that. I felt…dirty. I felt so bad about it I told my dad when I got home.” You were a good kid, most of the time; naive and privileged, sure, but you’d never done something you knew was bad until then. It made your insides itch, your conscience perhaps, and you didn’t last a day before confessing it to your dad. “He took me back to the store and made me apologize to the clerk and pay for them. I was mortified. And then when we were going home he took a wrong turn, drove me to Octavia’s house and we made up.”

You dare look at Lexa, but there is no judgment on her face, only a soft sort of expression that you feel you don’t deserve.

“I never told any of them about the cigarettes,” you say. “My mom didn’t know either… It was between my dad and me. I assume he told my mom eventually, you know but…” You shrug. “Or maybe not. He’s always kept my secrets.”

“I wish my mom was like that. When she found out about me and Cos…” It’s the first time you hear the nickname, and you’re hit with sadness for a girl you never met. “I begged my mom not to tell my dad. She didn’t listen. A few months after they split up she told me she wished she hadn’t told him. That maybe our family would still be whole.”

“That wasn’t your fault,” you tell her. It looks like she believes you.

“You know what is my fault?” she asks, holding her head up with her hand. “The fact I'm dating a criminal.”

Your mouth falls open. An insulted gasp leaves you.

“I open up my heart to you and this is how you pay me?” you ask teasingly, pinching her side. Lexa laughs. You secretly like it when she teases you, it’s so odd a sight. It also makes a weight lift off your shoulders, that she won’t hold against you the stupid, childish things you’ve done. She holds your hands to her stomach, keeping them still to avoid any tickling. The smile slowly vanishes from her face, leaving in its place awe.

“You’re an amazing person, Clarke,” Lexa says, as sure as if she was talking about physics or history, as if it was an undeniable fact. Your breath catches. “You’re kind, and talented, and smart.” Her fingers thread through your hair, pushing it away from your face. “You’re beautiful, inside and out. Whatever dumb things you did when you were younger don’t change that.”

Your eyes sting.

You still wrestle with guilt sometimes, that you were responsible for what happened to Wells; that you have amazing, accepting parents, and friends who would do anything for you, and enough money to not worry about it, and that you’ve done nothing to deserve all of that. That maybe you’re not a good enough person.

But when Lexa tells you you’re good…you believe it.

 

 

.

 

 

Lexa likes your boobs.

You might go as far as saying she loves them, and you’re fond of them yourself, but the reverent way Lexa watches when you sit up to take off your shirt, and the widening of her eyes before she kisses and nuzzles like she wants to drown in your cleavage… it’s something else. You gasp when she sucks just over the cup of your bra, not daring to lower it. It’s not enough to leave a bruise but you don’t need physical evidence to be feeling it for a while.

You feel like a goddamn fifteen year old boy. You went to town by yourself every day for the past week. Lexa leaves you wound up and you need to get it out of you somehow, but you’ll die if Raven walks into the bathroom after you again and says you left it smelling like sin.

You look at her in question before unbuttoning her shirt, and she lets it happen, her hands on your waist and hips and just above your ass. Lexa’s wearing a black sports bra beneath, and you groan at the lack of skin on display.

You lean down to bite gently at her earlobe, and Lexa gasps, her hips raising off the bed.

“You like that?” You ask, smirking.

“Clarke,” she whines. It feels like such a power high, to have Lexa like this, wound up and pleading, and you go tortuously slow as you touch her, your hands shaping two perfect breasts over her clothing. Lexa is a work of art, you’ve always thought so, and so is the tan, taught skin of her stomach beneath your hands.

You spend long moments like this, kissing her, letting your hands blindly map out her body and enjoying hers doing the same. Things wind down after a while, to a simmering heat of quiet gasps and soft touches, thumbs rubbing circles on her waist, right above her jeans. You lean down to kiss her neck, but then you notice the clock on her nightstand.

“Shit. I’ve gotta go back to my room.”

“Clarke!”

“Raven and O are waiting.” You pull away, chuckling when Lexa follows you.

“Clarke.”

You move to get off her and she wraps her arms around you. You laugh.

“They’ll think I was murdered on my way back or something,” you say.

Lexa pulls you back into bed, rolling on top of you. Her graceful legs frame your hips.

You look up at her; playful and beautiful and sweet.

“I really do have to go, you know?” You ask her, teasing. You could bail. Again. Endure Raven and Octavia’s teasing and cries of abandonment for the next couple of days. You breathe hard, with only a second to recover before Lexa’s kissing you again, her forearms on either side of your head. Your decision is made.

It’s a while before you put your shirt back on to leave, and Lexa’s pout when you do makes you laugh out loud.

 

  
.

 

  
You learn more about Lexa in a week than you did the entire time you were roommates last winter.

You learn that her parents doted on her when she was a kid; that she saw Anya very little while she was growing up but when she did, older by five years Anya, ‘exotic’ according to her mother Anya, ‘as bad as her deadbeat dad’ according to her father Anya, intimidated her. You learn that Lexa met Costia the first day of high-school, that Lexa ran track the first half of sophomore year at her friends’ urging, that Lexa stopped taking her anxiety medication when she came to college because she didn’t want to go back home every few weeks when she ran out.

You learn what it means to be trusted, and to trust someone so fully in return. You tell each other things that no one else knows, and sometimes tears are involved but most of the time they’re not. You cry when you tell her all about Wells, how you think maybe he liked you as more than a friend but you’ve never had the guts to ask anyone if it was true, that you wouldn’t want to know anyways because some days you still feel so guilty about his death. Lexa cries when she tells you about Costia’s funeral, and you think that it’s odd, how you were both grieving for people you loved at around the same time, but you didn’t know each other. You do now, and you hold her.

You learn Lexa is quiet in her passion, that she’ll sink her fingers into your thighs and pull you closer before ever letting her mouth fall open. That she’s shy about touching you first, but once you grab her hand and press it against your chest she doesn’t hold back. You learn her anxiety and depression and the fact you did not know about those were holding her back, with you, and now that that wall is gone you get to fall in love with her all over again.

You learn how her eyes look when they’re fogged up with lust, half-lidded with desire, blinking owlishly with sleep and hardened by concealed fear. You recognize love glinting in their green depths.

You learn things about yourself too.

You learn that for all this time you’ve accepted you love Lexa, you didn’t have a right to say it until you saw her sitting on the floor of a movie theater, breathing too hard for her lungs to catch up. You learn there’s a spot on your lower back that makes you shiver when Lexa sinks her nails into it while you’re making out, but that will make you giggle any other time. You learn patience, and remember sorrow, and practice the most tender kindness your hands have ever tried.

You learn what it means to be in love.

 

  
.

 

 

“I think I haven’t even told Monty we’re together,” you tell Lexa one afternoon. You don’t know why that’s what comes to your mind, notebooks spread out on Lexa’s bed as she studies, your sketching pad on your lap, empty. Perhaps it’s exactly because you’re supposed to be doing work. “Or Bellamy, I don’t think he knows either.”

Lexa looks up at you.

“Knows what?”

“That we’re together,” you tell her.

“What was that?”

“That we’re together,” you repeat. Lexa sits up.

“What?”

“That we’re- are you making fun of me?”

“No,” Lexa promises, crawling towards you, notebooks be damned. “I just like hearing you say that.”

You smile through your fake annoyance -you can’t even manage to hold onto the frown.

“How about ‘I’m your girlfriend’? Or ‘I’m all yours’?” you ask, your fingers dancing over her back.

“I like those too.”

“Yeah?”

Lexa nods, pressing a small kiss to your jaw.

“I really like those. And I’m all yours too.”

 

 

.

 

 

Anya walks out of Lexa’s room a minute before you enter, and you pass each other in front of the elevator. The older girl gives you a nod in greeting before going on her way, and your last conversation with her resonates with you. You promised you’d take care of Lexa. You know now what Anya meant, about things getting hard.

“Knock, knock,” you say from the door. Lexa smiles up at you from her place on her bed.

“I was just setting up the movie,” she says.

“What are we watching?” you ask, sitting behind her. Your rest your chin on her shoulder, and your arms goes around her to press against her stomach, bringing her closer. Lexa melts back into you.

“Fracture. It’s for one of my finals,” she explains, turning around and her nose collides with your cheek. You laugh, and press a small kiss against her lips. “I have to hand in an analysis of the movie,” Lexa explains. “And a 5 page essay on whether I think the perfect crime can be committed. It’s due next week.” Lexa turns back to her laptop. She’s wearing yoga pants and a simple white shirt, her hair gathered in a bun with little tendrils falling out. She has her reading glasses on, and it’s been a while since you’ve seen the frames. She looks like a precious nerd, but you won’t tell her that out loud.

“You already did all that, didn’t you?” you ask.

“I did want to see the movie with you,” she says and it’s -it’s not really an answer. You smile. She types away.

The last couple of weeks of the semester are rolling around, and you have yet to make solid plans with Lexa, but it can wait. You know where her parents live, and her uncle, it’s not that big of a drive either way. You’ll gladly suffer through a few hours in a car each day to see her.

“What is it about?” you ask, sitting back against her pillows.

“It’s Anthony Hopkins. It’s about a guy who attempts to murder his wife and then represents himself on trial, and the district attorney trying to put him behind bars.”

“That’s…honestly kind of boring, babe.” You don’t think so, not really, but you like riling her up.

Lexa looks offended.

“If you consider riveting courtroom dramas with a dash of ethical dilemmas to be boring, I suppose so.”

You chuckle.

“Are you laughing at me?”

It’s just…her glasses and her unruly hair and, fuck, she’s just the most adorable thing you have seen.

“You’re really cute when you get mad over lawyer movies,” you say.

“Clarke,” Lexa complains. You laugh.

“Stop,” Lexa pleads again, and her overly whiny tone of voice gives away her intentions. She’s being cute. This playful side to Lexa is one you’re just starting to see, and you adore it.

You intertwine your fingers together, and Lexa tips you back on the bed.

Her hands settle over the sides of your belly, and it makes you jump. The threat is clear in Lexa’s eyes.

“You want me to stop laughing or you’ll tickle me?” You ask. “Babe, there’s a flaw in your plan.”

Lexa doesn’t seem to care.

She gets on top of you and her fingers wreak havoc on your sides, mercilessly drawing laughter out of you. You swat her hands away, and she complies only when you’re gasping for breath.

She leans down to press a kiss to your cheek.

“I love your laugh,” she tells you.

“I love your everything,” you say breathlessly.

You don’t mean for it to slip out, but it does.

Your pulse beats in your ears. Lexa’s eyes pop open, and you hear the hitch in her breath before her gaze goes soft.

You didn’t mean to confess it, you don’t want to push her, and it’s not an ‘I love you’ but it’s close. Lexa kisses you before whispering a ‘ _right back at ya_ ’ and getting up to press play on the movie.

 

 

You wake up as Lexa gets out of bed, putting her laptop aside before climbing back in. You don’t know how late it is, and hope she told Raven or O that you’d be here and not lying in a ditch somewhere.

She smiles when she notices you’re awake, and it’s too fond of you to be considered teasing.

“Hey. Did I fall asleep?” You ask. Lexa nods, looking at you with an expression that makes your breath catch. “What’s up?” you ask groggily.

Lexa shrugs.

“Sometimes I just cant believe you’re real.”

 

  
.

 

  
The rec room is deserted for the first time you can remember in all of your time at college. The movie’s opening credits appear as you settle in behind Lexa, and you cherish the peace and quiet in a place that is neither of your dorm rooms.

“Clarke?” Lexa asks. “Do you want to do something?”

“Mmhm?” You cuddle up closer to her, sighing. “No. why?”

“You’re holding my boob in your hand,” she mentions. You hold back a laugh.  
  
“I like your boobs,” you say. “Does it bother you? I can’t take my hand off.”  
  
Lexa protectively covers your hand on her breast in a flash, and then lets it fall. You chuckle.  
  
“I’ll take that as a no.” You notice the pretty pink spreading across the edges of her cheekbones.  
  
“Are you just going to keep holding my boob? For the duration of this film?” Lexa asks, amusement in her voice.  
  
“It’s so soft, you have amazing boobs.” It’s not sexual, not overtly so. It feels nice, it fits there. You give her a gentle squeeze. Lexa shudders.  
  
“I’m pretty sure all boobs feel like that, Clarke.”  
  
“No, yours are special,” you retort. You feel warm and silly and lazy. “Extra nice.”  
  
“Anyone could walk in,” Lexa says.  
  
“Under the blanket everything goes,” you say, but still let your hand fall away. You bring her closer and kiss her cheek, pushing her shoulder a little so she’ll turn to face you. She looks rosy and happy and carefree, and you metaphorically pat yourself on the back. She puckers up her lips and you comply, chastely kissing her. First her top lip, and then her bottom one. You press a kiss to her chin that makes her laugh.  
  
Lexa’s smiles come so easy these days, you can’t barely remember last week at the movie theater, but it still happened, and you haven’t stopped wondering about the reason why.

You suppose now it’s as good a time as any to ask.

“Lex…you never told me what had you like that the other day.” The smile slowly leaves her lips, and you shoulder on with asking instead of telling her to forget it. “I mean…was there a reason? Or was it just...something that happens?” You don’t want to sound ignorant, or offend her, but you also need to know. You just want to be there for her.

Lexa swallows, the serious, stoic expression you first knew her with draping over her face.

“It just happens, sometimes,” she says, and you nod. You slip your fingers between hers, because even if you’re pressed up right against her side, you want her to feel closer to you. Lexa squeezes your hand. “There are days were waking up is just…hard. But that day, my dad sent me an e-mail.”

You weren’t expecting that.

“Oh. Did he say something-”

“Nothing bad,” Lexa says, before your thoughts can run from you. “He just got a promotion. He was made equity partner at his firm.”  
Lexa’s brow is knotted, and you aim to diffuse the tension.

“I’m an art major, baby. Stereotypes and all, I don't really know what that means.” You actually don’t, and Lexa’s small smile is worth the embarrassment. “He’s the boss now?”

“One of the bosses,” Lexa explains. “He’s been working his whole life toward it.” She looks away from you, picking on the threads of the blanket. “He’s having a dinner party to celebrate.”

You rub her hip.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you ask her gently. It’s been a week of her carrying this by herself.

Lexa shrugs half-heartedly. “I didn’t want to think about it.” Her voice gets smaller. “I have to go.”

“You don’t have to,” you say right away. Lexa doesn’t need to be anywhere near her asshole of a father.

“I’m still his daughter,” she says. “I’m still double-majoring. He has to show me off. I can’t miss it.”

“Lexa.” You don’t know what to say, how to explain- “He shouldn't get to use you like that.”

“I have to, Clarke,” she says firmly, and you wonder if she didn’t tell you because you would react like this, asking her not to go. “What if it was your father?”

“My father deserves that title,” you say, and it comes out more biting than you intended.

“It’ not -its not like my father’s this awful monster,” Lexa says.

“You’ve told me he’s homophobic, and racist. That sounds awful to me.” Even more, this is the man who apparently terrorized her ex-girlfriend, who wanted to send Lexa to a conversion camp…You don’t understand the loyalty she holds for someone who has hurt her so badly. “I don’t know how you can defend him,” you say. You hate him, you were sure Lexa hated him too.

She shrugs.

“He’s still my father, I owe him this. And…it’s not his fault how he was raised.”

“Bullshit,” you say. “We have a choice in how we act.”

“I don’t want to fight with you,” Lexa pleads.

“I wasn’t aware we were fighting,” you retort.

“Clarke, please.”

You sigh, and let your head fall against her shoulder.

“I just don't want him to hurt you.”

 

.

 

  
You hold Lexa’s hand while you walk to your building, and she lets herself be lead.

Your room is empty when you walk in, though Raven’s books are lying around. Octavia’s bed is unmade, but that’s its natural state and gives you no clue as to where your friend might be.

Lexa takes a seat on Raven’s bed.

You smile at the gesture. She has intertwined herself with all parts of your life now, she’s friends with your friends; and her sitting on Raven’s bed when a month or two ago she would have been stiff and overly polite about the other girl’s things makes you happy. Makes you all the more protective of her.

You sigh and sit next to her, very close, resting your chin on her shoulder.

She takes your hand between hers, her long fingers trailing over the back of yours.

“I was so angry at him, for so long,” Lexa says, and she doesn’t need to explain for you to know she’s talking about her father. “I still am, sometimes, but I just...I don’t have the energy to be that angry anymore. And I feel guilty about that a lot, but I’m just… I’m happy. With you.” She brings the back of your hand up to her lips. It makes warmth spread through your chest. “I have to do what he says, because even after everything he’s done wrong he’s still my father. He and my mom are still paying for school. Do you understand that?” Lexa asks.

You nod. You hadn’t thought about that.

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it,” you say. Lexa smiles, and it’s just this side of sad.

“This is my family, Clarke,” she says gently. “This is mine to deal with.”

You twist to face her, your hands running over her arms.

“You’re not alone,” you insist. “I’m here.”  
  
Lexa smiles, and it’s so bright and genuine you don’t know how you ever got by without the feeling it gives you.  
  
“I know that,” she says “And I love you, but it’s not that simple-"  
  
Lexa looks up at you with wide eyes, and you can see everything, no walls, no hiding. Just the girl you love and the fact she loves you too.

It takes your breath away.  
  
“What was that?” you ask. Lexa opens her mouth, but no sound comes out.  
  
You kiss her.

It’s fast and needy and desperate, and you have to cup her face to keep her still. Lexa’s hands grasp your arms as she seemingly drinks you in.

You’re all action and no thought, your whole body thrumming with the fact that Lexa said-

“Not on my bed!”

You jump away, your heart on your throat.

“Why?” Raven pleads. “Why on my bed?”

Octavia walks in after Raven, throwing her bag over your heads to the top bunk. Lexa’s face is burning red.

“You know what happened yesterday?” Raven asks, and doesn’t wait for you to answer. “I found Lincoln and Octavia-”

“We were still wearing clothes,” O says.

“The use of the word ‘still’ proves my whole damn point. This is like taking the disabled parking spots you know.”

“That’s not dramatic,” Octavia interjects.

“I get the bottom bunk because I can’t be climbing those stairs day in and day out with my leg. And y’all try to have sex on my bottom bunk. Both of you. Why are you like this?”

You stand up from Raven’s bed, a laugh erupting from your throat. You hold Lexa’s hand, and she sort of hides behind you, even though she’s taller. Raven sits down on her bed, making a show of wiping down her sheets.

“We’re having dinner at the dining hall, all of us. You’re both coming.” Raven states. “Come on, I’m not leaving you here.”

You fend off your friends teasing, your hear beating hard the whole time, Lexa tucked into your side.

She’s trembling.

 

.

 

 

The dining hall is quiet for a change, muted, or maybe it’s just how it seems because you’re too focused on Lexa to care about much else.

You sit up pressed against each other, and Monty does a double take before exclaiming “About time!”

“It’s been a while of this already,” Raven tells him. “You’d know if you came out of the lab more often.”

“Says you,” he retorts.

“We thought Clarke would combust,” Bellamy jokes. Your cheeks heat up, and you send him the dirtiest look you can manage with Lexa on your arm.

“Speaking about combustions-” Monty interjects, and just like that the subject changes from you. You’ll have to buy Monty a drink one of these days.

You sneak a look at Lexa.

You don’t want to assume but if your restless hands earlier and your constant touches and looks now are anything to go by, you both want to continue what your friends stopped. It’s still nothing compared to the fact that-

Lexa loves you.

She loves you, and you might have seen shadows of that deep affection swimming in her eyes before, and you might have felt it when Lexa shared with you all the things that made her chest heavy, when Lexa trusted you like she’d never trusted anyone before, but still…hearing it? You’re damn near giddy with it.

Your chest feels tight, like it’s expanding and you’re full to bursting with the feeling. You want to reach out and hold her close even when she’s already pressed up against you, as close as being in public will allow without her sitting in your lap. Your friends wouldn’t have a problem with that, but you know Lexa would feel self-conscious, so you keep your hands to yourself. Mostly.

Dinner is the slowest affair you can think off, and you hold Lexa’s hand as much as you bring bites of mac and cheese to your mouth. Jasper is in the middle of a story when you feel warm lips pressing a kiss to the underside of your jaw, with just a touch of tongue. You keep yourself in check and don’t make a sound.

No one notices, but the fact that it’s Lexa who risks it makes your heart beat hard.

“Want to get out of here?” you ask under your breath, and your voice is not as tremulous as you feel.

Lexa nods.

It takes you a minute to say your goodbyes and deflect questions about why you’re not going back to Bellamy’s with the rest of them but you manage.

Raven raises an eyebrow at you and you just hope Lexa doesn’t notice.

 

.

 

“Is Finn going to come back tonight?”

“I think so. I don’t care.”

Her jeans, your shirt, her jacket -clothes disappear quickly after that.

You’ve never understood the phrase ‘kid in a candy shop’ as well as you do when Lexa takes off your bra.

You smirk before she closes her mouth around you and then you’re groaning. She pulls away only to drop kisses over your chest, her hands groping, pulling closer.

“Like what you see?” you ask between gasps. Lexa bites your flesh gently in retaliation and you struggle to pull her shirt off. “Return the favor?”

Her nipples are dark and tightened into little pebbles when you let her simple black bra fall to the floor. You squeeze your thighs together but get no friction, only the uncomfortable realization that you're so wet your underwear is soaked through.

You can’t hold back a moan when she sucks at your pulse point.  
  
“Clarke.” Lexa dips her fingers in the band of your underwear, but you cover her hand with your own.  
  
“You first,” you insist. As wanting relief as you are, your hands itch to touch her even more.  
  
You slow down.  
  
Lexa holds both of your hands as you walk her back toward her bed, and then she sinks down on it, looking up at you with nothing short of wonder. It’s trust and adoration and love, all rolled into one, and it makes your throat tight.  
  
Sex is fun for you. It’s hot and wet and fun.  
  
You like the feel of sweat slick skin against your own, of fingers sinking into your thighs, of sharing breaths. You’ve very seldom had sex without laughing at some point. The pockets of time where you waited for someone to put on a condom, the joking when someone slipped, falling face first into the mattress. The teenage, giggling nervousness of doing something for the first time, and later on the cocky smirks and laughter of remembering something akin to a favorite hobby.  
  
It’s never been like this.  
  
Your hand is almost trembling, and you press it closer agaisnt Lexa’s to make it stop.  
  
You never imagined it would be like this, either. And God, you’ve imagined taking Lexa to bed more times that’s right. You drag the last of her clothes down her legs, letting your hands roam over her shoulders, her chest, the planes of her stomach, bare to your touch.  
  
Lexa gasps when you finally twirl your fingers over her swollen clit. She’s wet, so wet for you, and you kiss her harder as though to thank her.  
  
“Is this okay?” you ask. “Tell me what you like.”  
  
“I…” Lexa bites her lip. “Softer.”  
  
You comply. Turn your touches into barely there caresses, the tips of your fingers parting her flesh and circling the nub at the top.  
  
Lexa shudders.  
  
“You're so beautiful,” you tell her. “You're so good.” The words slip out of your mouth unbidden, and you press your lips to her neck. Heaven knows what else could escape you.  
  
You feel her thighs clench beneath you, and the sweetest of sounds leaves her lips; a low, needy moan that makes desire flare up sharp between your legs.  
  
“Clarke!” Lexa squeezes her thighs together, trapping your hand. You’re surprised, but don’t miss the telltale shiver that runs through her body.  
  
“Did you…I’ve never made a girl come that fast.”  
  
“I -sorry.”  
“God, Lexa, never apologize for that.” You kiss her cheek sweetly, and Lexa offers you a shy, embarrassed smile.  
  
You grasp her hip with your wet fingers.  
  
“You good?”  
  
She nods.  
  
She’s tentative as she reaches for your underwear. A rush of nerves you hadn’t felt since you were in high-school swims in your stomach, as you sit up and take them off.  
  
“What do you-”  
  
“Inside,” you say, impatient. “I want you inside.”  
  
You positively ache, and when Lexa finally pushes in with two fingers, you groan with relief.

She’s half on top you, your breasts pressing together when she kisses you, and though it feels amazing you won’t be able to come like this.  
  
“I need-” You touch your clit, rubbing in circles how you like it, and Lexa catches on and mimics you. “Yeah. Like that-” You let your hand fall away, grasp the back of her neck and bring her down for a few bumpy kisses, your body moving with her thrusts.  
  
“Clarke.”  
  
“More,” you plead, covering the hand driving into you. You crave her, all of her, around and inside you, filling you up. If you could breathe her in you would. You catch Lexa’s eyes when she adds a third finger. You hum at the stretch, and your eyes want to close but you force yourself to keep them open because you want to see Lexa. Her eyes are so very green and trained on yours, her gaze won’t let you go. It’s never been like this, you’ve never being so present in the moment while being lost to your pleasure.

It’s a mess of sounds and feelings and colors.  
  
The wet sound of her fingers moving in and out of you, the vulnerability of your spread legs, the steadily building pressure at your core and Lexa’s awed expression as she looks at you. Your breath speeds up. Your moans join the symphony of noises permeating the room, as a litany of “Ah, ah, ah” falls from your lips.  
  
When her nails sink into your thigh, bringing you impossibly closer-you’re gone.  
  
“ _Fuck._ ”  
  
You come in pulses, your hips jerking of their own accord. A moan is ripped from your throat when you clench around Lexa’s long fingers still buried deep inside you. You float, suspended in the most delightful pleasure, and then you’re coming back down, feeling everything tenfold. The sheets, the sweat, Lexa’s hands and lips against your body.  
  
You groan when she drags her fingers out, and bring her down with insistent, greedy hands to kiss her deep and full of tongue in a way that feels as intimate as what you just did. This is more familiar to you, it’s what you’re used to. You smile against her lips, and let your hand slip down her body from the side of her breast to the curve of her ass. The sweat is drying off you already, now you’ve stopped moving, and the cool air seems to bring reality with it. But you don’t want this to be over yet.

 

 

  
“Is this okay?” you check in. Lexa nods shakily.  
  
You slowly trail kisses down her body, making your intention clear. Your tongue draws a path from her navel to a hipbone and you chuckle when Lexa’s body jerks. She’s so wet.  
  
You can smell her arousal, see it clearly in the shining skin beneath short, trimmed hair. You let your finger trail over the most intimate parts of Lexa. She’s still so sensitive from her orgasm her body jumps, and you commit to taking this slow.  
  
“ _Clarke_.” Her voice is the lowest you’ve ever heard it, and her blunt nails gently scrape your scalp where her fingers have sunk into your hair.

“You smell amazing,” you tell her. You’ve always had an appreciation for the warm, heady smell of a woman, but Lexa is something else. “Fuck, you’re so wet,” you whisper, and Lexa’s moan is obscene even when you haven’t tasted her yet. So you do.

You take your time, just exploring at first, letting your tongue run through her as you get used to the salty, tangy taste. Lexa closes her eyes, a frown tightened between them and if her mouth wasn't open in pleasure you'd think she was in pain.

She is quiet, and you’re not used to that. You want directions, you crave to do whatever she wants. You’re ready to put yourself at her disposal, worship at her altar.

“Lex, is this okay?” You ask, and she eagerly nods, but says nothing. You reach for her hand. She looks down at you, and you choose that moment to bring your mouth back to her center. Lex _whimpers_ , and you think maybe right now you don’t need words to know if she likes what you’re doing. You close your eyes and spread her lips and give yourself over to pleasuring her.  
  
Lexa is the most strong, beautiful woman you’ve ever met, and you have her on her back, eyes wet, mouth open. What did you do to deserve this?

Lexa clenches your hand periodically where it rests over her stomach, almost out of her control. She begins to squirm when you circle her clit with your tongue, and you want to suck on the little pebble but you're not sure how well she handles pain yet -and it’s okay. You’ll find out soon enough.  
  
You’re not done yet and you cant wait to do this again.  
  
Her body is spread out and willing under you, but you’re greedy; you crave her eyes. Those eyes that drew you in when you first met. You pull away and gaze up at her.  
  
“Lexa, look at me,” you call out, feeling the cold air on your wet chin and not having it in you to be awkward about it. Her eyes pop open, and you place a kiss just below her navel, pleading for her to keep her eyes on you while you keep going.  
  
When she comes -eyes wide and wet, mouth open, the sweetest of moans falling from her lips- you swear you’ve never seen anything so beautiful.  
  
You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand as you crawl up to meet her.  
  
“Hey.”  
  
Lexa looks drugged, all half lidded eyes and sweat shining over her flushed chest. You never want to forget the sight. “Come here,” you say, and lean down to kiss her. She makes a noise when she tastes herself, but she’s licking into your mouth before you can apologize. You pull away after a minute, breathless, and brush away the residue of tears from her cheeks.  
  
“Are you okay?” you ask her.  
  
“I’m in love with you.”  
  
It’s simple, a confession if you’ve ever heard one, and she’s not hiding, she’s not nervous; Lexa just meets your eyes and lets the words fall out, spread over the sheets. Your stomach flips over and your eyes itch and it’s almost foolish, how this one sentence so thoroughly pulls you apart.

And then you realize -you still haven’t said it, not really.

“I’m in love with you too.” Your smiling so wide your cheeks ache, and it makes kissing her all the more complicated. Lexa giggles as your lips collide, and it’s messy but it’s perfect. “I love you, sweet girl.”

 

 

 

“…stay.”

It’s a little while later when Lexa asks, both of your hearts beating normally. You nod before you realize that Finn will see you, and you’re an asshole because you dont care. Nothing could make you leave a bed with a sated, sleepy Lexa behind, asking you to stay.  
  
“I’m not going anywhere,” you promise, squeezing her shoulder. “But we should get dressed.”  
  
You refuse to put on your wet underwear again so Lexa lends you a pair of her boxer shorts, and a baggy t-shirt you’ve seen her wear to bed before. She puts on some pajamas of her own and it’s kind of surreal; watching her step into a pair of simple white panties with her back to you, and then shorts with little cats on them. Innocent somehow, adorable.  
  
She offers you a smile when she gets back into bed, this side of nervous, and you welcome her into your open arms.  
  
“Cat got your tongue?” you ask, teasing.  
  
“I could ask the same,” Lexa retorts, voice low and raspy.  
  
“I’m just happy. I don't think I need words.”  
  
“Same.”  
  
“That’s a coincidence.”  
  
You sink your hand into her hair, and softly massage her scalp with the tips of your fingers. She softly moans, apparently too spent to be embarrassed at the unholy sound. It makes you squeeze your thighs together. You came once, you could definitely go again. You're not tired, just pleasantly sated, and you’ve craved Lexa for so long you could make love to her all night. But she looks positively exhausted, sleepy and pliant like a rag doll, so you push it away. You have time.  
  
She slips her leg between yours, and you wrap an arm around her, leaving the other to push away the tendrils of hair sticking to her forehead.  
  
“I love you,” you tell her, because you can; you don’t know why you waited in the first place. Time means nothing when you’re holding Lexa like this. She presses a kiss to your sternum, and your fingers caress her back until her breath evens out.  
  
All you want is for the world to be gentle to Lexa, and if it won’t be, at least you will.


	24. may, part three

You roll to the cool, empty side of the bed. The room is warm, a little too warm, and you kick the covers off, cursing the D.C. weather that can’t decide which season it is. You open your eyes slowly and look around the room.

Finn’s bed is unmade but he isn’t there.

Lexa’s sitting on her desk chair, her gaze on the floor.

Your stomach sinks.

“Lexa?”

She turns around. You sit up, and your heart beats fast, if you laid your hand on your chest you could feel it thumping against her borrowed shirt.

“Hey,” Lexa says softly, climbing into the bed. “Are you okay?”

Her brow knots, and she- she looks fine. You realize how you were worrying -panicking, more like- and consciously make an effort to calm down. Part of you feels dumb, but part of you -the part of you that’s come to expect taking one step forward with Lexa only to be launched 10 steps back- is scared.

“I’m fine. Are you?”

“Yes, absolutely,” she says.

You nod.

“When I woke up and you weren’t here…I just thought…” you trail off, then shake your head. You thought she’d be regretting last night, that she’d be back to pushing you away, a number of things, each worse than the last.

“I’m here,” Lexa says, boldly wrapping her arms around you to bring you closer. You sigh. Maybe you really are past that. You didn’t know how much you needed proof that Lexa wouldn’t shut you out again until now.

You sink into her embrace.

You wrap your arms around her, and warmth floods your chest.

“So you’re not freaking out?” You ask against her shoulder, just to be sure. Because you kind of are. Last night was…you’d never felt so close to another human being.

“A little,” Lexa confesses. “But it’s the good kind.” She nuzzles your neck. “We had sex last night,” Lexa says softly.

You smile.

“We did.”

“You told me you love me.”

“I did.” You pull away and cup Lexa’s face in your hands, your thumbs rubbing the apples of her cheeks. You kiss her, soft as ever. “I do.”

Lexa’s smile is blinding.

  

 Between kisses and caresses you manage to get dressed and make it to the dining hall. Despite Raven and Octavia’s gagging noises, you don’t let go of Lexa at all while you have breakfast.

  

.

 

“Oh, the honeymoon phase.”

Raven’s voice is bright and chipper when you enter your room. You expected them to give you shit about not sleeping in your own bed, of course, but they don’t even let you put both feet inside your room before they start.

 “She’s glowing,” Octavia mentions. You hope you’re not blushing.

“What if she’s pregnant?” Raven asks.

“I thought you were a scientist, Rae,” you say, tamping down a smile. It would only encourage them.

“Not yet,” Raven says. “Right now I just get to tease you.”

You shake your head. 

“You had sex.” Octavia manages to sound both accusatory and amused at the same time, and if you weren’t pink cheeked before you definitely are now.

 “How do you figure that?” you ask, wondering if the having really great sex the night before can be sensed by people like it is written on your forehead. If that’s the case, you can deal with the burden. 

“You didn’t come home last night,” Octavia says. 

“Which in itself wouldn’t be such a red flag”,” Raven intervenes. “Heaven knows since you and Lexa got together you’ve been spending more time in her room than in your own.” 

“But you have this smile on your face,” Octavia continues seamlessly. Did they practice this? “Well?” Octavia waits expectantly, and you’re afraid you can’t give her what she wants. 

“Well, what?” you ask, looking for your bag. Regardless of what you like to think, you have, like, actual studies to tend to. Though they might just be a distraction right this moment. 

“Well, how was it?” Octavia asks. “Is Lexa good? I don’t know, Clarke. We usually don’t have to pry the info out off you.” 

“To be honest I can’t remember a time you got laid and didn’t sing like a bird about it,” Raven says, and it’s not unkind. It’s also not false. You like talking to your friends, and you’ve always been confident in your body and sexuality. It all translated into a tendency to give Octavia a run for her money when it came to over-sharing.  
“Remember your first time? You fucking called us while you were still in bed with him, Clarke!” 

You’re never going to live that down. 

“I know his dick curved to the left side so much it freaked you out.” 

“I was sixteen, I didn’t know they did that,” you say, hoping they’ll focus on your past escapades and stop prying for information about last night. You don’t want to share. It’s a little odd, having something that you want to keep from your best friends, but…it’s between you and Lexa. You want to respect that.

 It also comes with the realization that Lexa is also one of your best-friends. You’re in love with her, in the big-romantic-gestures kind of way, the sort that makes your chest swell and your heart ache, but you also just…love her. Love being around her and making her laugh and sharing your food. Your dad always did tell you that’s what the best relationships were based on. 

“See?” Octavia insists, and…you’d gone somewhere else. Raven’s knowing expression tells you she knows exactly where. “You clearly don’t have a problem with over-sharing. Come on-” 

“No, O,” you say firmly. “This is different. You don’t tell us all the sappy shit you and Lincoln get up to.”

 “True.” Octavia clicks her tongue. “So it was sappy…”

 You can’t avoid smiling, you’re too happy to help it.

 “I told her I love her.” 

You don’t have to share details, but you want them to know. You want to show it from the rooftops. 

“Oh,” Octavia says. 

“Oh,” Raven mouths. 

“After she told me.” You’re still thrumming with it, and grin. “I…It’s never been like that. That’s all I’m going to say.” 

“I have a new theory, Blake.” 

“Do tell, Reyes.”

 “I think the smile is not from the sex at all.”

 

 .

 

You help Lexa pick out her clothing for a dinner you don’t want her to attend.

 It’s not your choice, of course, and you hate people who think they have a say in what their significant others do or don’t do, but you have good reasons. Perfectly valid reasons that you’re sure constitute child abuse in several states. You don’t want Lexa near her father, and you feel powerless because it’s not your choice.

 Lexa sifts through her closet, her side of the room messier than you’ve ever seen it. You lay on her bed, a small mountain of clothing at your feet.

 “What’s your father’s name?” you ask, you’re not sure why. Maybe putting a name to the man will make him seem less like a monster in your eyes.

“Titus,” Lexa answers.

“Titus?” You are already envisioning a lifetime of calling your father in law ‘Titty’. And then you remember that Lexa’s parents don’t know about you, and they can’t, and you swallow because it’s effortless to get swept up in happiness and forget about things you should address eventually.

But not now.

“Okay, so your father’s Titus, and your uncle’s Gustus.” You smile. “I’m sensing a theme here, Alexandria.”

Lexa gives you a smile over her shoulder.

“Anya’s mom, her name was Aurelia. And Luna’s dad was named Julius.”

“So your flare for the dramatic is genetic,” you say. She chuckles. “They should’ve called you Lexus, to keep up with the theme.”

“Like the car?” Lexa asks.

“I’d ride you.”

Lexa snorts and you wiggle your eyebrows at her. It’s easy to forget about the shitty dinner coming up when you get to tease her and her smile is so beautiful.

“How about this one?” She turns around and asks, holding up a blue summer dress. “I could pair it with a cardigan.”

“It’s nice,” you say, and Lexa huffs, but still throws it on the ‘maybe’ pile on her desk chair. They’re all nice, and she’ll look beautiful in any, as you’ve told her several times in the past hour.

“You know, I think I’ve only seen you in a dress once,” you tell her. “After Spring Break, when I came back from my parent’s. You were wearing this white dress.” She looked so…girly and delicate, and you didn’t know how much of a thing you had for Lexa with her hair loose and looking like a Disney princess until that moment. Except you totally did. You have a thing for Lexa in all her iterations. “You looked beautiful.”

“You noticed.”

“Did you want me to?” you ask, curious.

Lexa throws a pair of high waisted shorts -deemed inappropriate- on her bed. Her cheeks pink slightly.

“I was wearing it for you,” she confesses. “I thought…I thought maybe I could be brave enough to get us a do-over of the boardwalk.” Lexa bites her lip, and you want to tuck it out of her teeth with your thumb. “But then I saw Finn.”

 “Oh. Fuck.” 

Lexa shrugs, like it doesn’t bother her, but you know it does. It dawns on you that you’ve never actually talked about Finn, or what your brief thing with him was.

 “I never had feelings for him,” you feel the need to say. “We went on like two dates.”

 “I just thought that he would be better for you,” Lexa says.

 “You were wrong,” you tell her gently.

 “I wasn’t, Clarke.” 

You stop at that. Lexa must see it on your face because she explains.

 “He has less baggage,” she says, shrugging. “And he’s a guy,” she adds.

“What does that have to do with anything?” 

“I know your parents accept you, Clarke. But society at large…You cant possibly believe the world is going to treat you the same when you’re with a guy than when you’re with me.” She sounds so sure, practical, like she knows better than you and it rubs you the wrong way. This is your life too, and Lexa doesn’t get to decide she’s not what’s right for you.

 “So? We still have a ways to go,” you accept. “But we’re getting there. Marriage is legal. Same sex couples can adopt. I’d like to think there are more open-minded people than assholes.”

 “Maybe there are, I don’t know. But the truth is your life would be happier with a guy,” she says, final. She seems resigned to the fact, and it makes you mad. “It would be easier-”

 “Are you going to break up with me?” you ask firmly.

 Lexa’s eyes pop open. “No.” She drops the dress in her hands. “Clarke, no.”

 “Then stop saying shit like that,” you tell her harshly. “I know the kind of crap your parents raised you on but I don’t want to hear it.”

 Lexa flinches. She nods once, tight, before earnestly going back to finding appropriate clothes.

 You run your fingers through your hair, closing your eyes tight.

 You seldom lose your temper, but when you do it’s hot and red and you know it’s not Lexa’s fault, so you feel even worse.

 You sigh. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“It’s fine,” Lexa says. 

“No, it’s not. I’m sorry I spoke to you that way.” Lexa has been painfully honest with you, so you can do it too. “I’m just…If you really believe that, I’m just-” You sigh, feeling cut open in a way you’re not used to. “I’m scared you’ll leave me.”

 It sounds weak and sad and pathetic, but it’s the truth, the bare, ugly bones of it. Losing Lexa, in any capacity, fills you with panic. You love her, you can’t imagine losing her because of someone else’s issues.

 “I don’t want to leave you,” Lexa says. 

“Then don’t,” you tell her. “Believe me when I tell you that there’s nowhere I could be happier than right here with you.” You sit up on the side of her bed. “I don’t care if we have to keep this from your parents forever. They don’t matter. I don’t care. I’m happy, with you. The rest of it doesn’t matter, okay?” You scoot to the side of the bed, and pull her by the hands. You hug her waist, resting your forehead on her tummy. Her fingers card through your hair. “You’re good. You’re so good, Lexa.” You say, muffled against her clothes. “I promise you there’s not a single thing wrong with you, or with us.”

 “I love you,” she says, and your heart stops, just like it did the first time. You pull away to look up at her.

 “It’s really something to hear you say that,” you tell her.

 “I’ve said it before,” Lexa retorts. 

“In the middle of a sentence and after two orgasms,” you point out, and for a girl who gave you one of those herself, she’s bashful. ”Here…it feels real.”

 “It is,” she says. “I love you.”

 You will never get tired of hearing her say that, not now, not later, (not even in the fall, when it hurts and you wish you’d never met her). And you will never tire of repeating it, because it will never cease to be true.

 “I love you too.”

  

.

  

“It’s the last game of the season!” Octavia exclaims, and Clarke feels just a little bad that she’s not into sports. “Lincoln promised to dress up like a cheerleader.”

 “Seriously?” Raven asks. You’re pretty sure he would, you’ve gotten a taste of what it’s like to be thoroughly in love and whipped.

 “My man isn’t confined to your gender roles, thank you very much. He’ll rock a skirt to cheer me up.”

 “Your relationship is kind of gross,” you tease her. 

“Look who’s talking,” Octavia says, but you’re no longer looking at her. Lexa is walking down the sidewalk, errand curls escaping the beanie you pushed down her forehead this morning. 

“Lex,” you say when she’s close enough, extending your hand. Her smile makes you smile, and you tangle your fingers together. You kiss her quickly before pulling her to sit on your lap. 

“Lexa,” Octavia says.

 “Hi, O. Raven.” 

It’s a tiny thing, but you hide a smile against Lexa’s back when she uses you friend’s nickname.

 “We were just talking about my last game,” Octavia says. “You’re coming, right? We’re all pre-gaming in our room and afterward the fratdouches are throwing me a party.”

 “The party is for the whole team,” Raven clarifies, while you roll your eyes, because Octavia's brother is one of said fratboys.

 “You in?” Octavia asks Lexa.

 “When Octavia says pre-game, she actually means getting us all drunk while she laughs,” you tell Lexa, wanting to give her a little time before she has to answer, and putting out there what she’d be agreeing to. You’re protective of her. Maybe O is right and you’re gross. “Octavia can’t actually drink before a game,” you say.

 “It’s part of my winning ritual,” O says, grinning. “Lexa?”

 “I’ll be there.” She wraps her arm around your own. “I don’t think this one would pass up a chance to get me to stop studying.”

 “Correct,” you say, kissing her shoulder. You hope she can feel it through all her clothes.

 “We’ll let you be all over each other now, I have a class,” Raven says, and you’re pretty sure she doesn’t. You're thankful for Raven, but a pang of sadness for you friend still spreads out in your chest, because you don’t know anyone who deserves to love and be loved more than Raven Reyes, and you want her to find that.

 “Lexa, good to see you,” she says. Lexa nods. Octavia follows Raven, and they disappear around the corner from the building.

 Lexa sinks back into your arms for just a second, before remembering you’re in the middle of campus and getting off your lap. She settles next to you on the bench, very close, and you grab her fingers again.

 “Hey, Lex....what are we doing for the summer?” You bring it up out of the blue, Octavia’s last game fresh in your mind, and with it the thought that school will soon be over and you won’t live in the same place. 

“I’ve been thinking about it,” Lexa answers. So have you. You have always had a tendency to make plans a week before they’re due, but you want to have this one down pat before summer is over.

 “We do live two hours apart,” you mention.

 “An hour and fifteen minutes without traffic.”

 You smile. She _has_ been thinking about it.

 “It’s doable. I could take my dad’s car and pick you up at least twice a week. Maybe more. How do bi-weekly date nights sound like?” It sounds like you’re incredibly eager to see her all the time, and you don’t care. “I don’t mind the drive, we’ll see each other more days than we won’t.”

 Lexa smiles brightly, but her face falls when you mention the days. 

“We can’t,” she says, biting her lip. “Clarke, my mom. She’ll think it’s weird I’m seeing you so much.”

 You feel an uncomfortable pang in your chest, but then nod. You don’t like feeling like this, like you’re lying, like you have to hide -but you don’t. You don’t. You’re on campus most of the time, and your parents know, as do all your friends and classmates. You can scream you love her from whatever rooftop you want, it just has to be one where her asshole parents aren’t listening.

 In the grand scheme of things…that’s nothing.

“I can just…I’ll take Rae and O some days, then,” you offer. “Maybe Lincoln could come too. Just tell her you’re going out with friends.”

 “I never had too many friends after Costia,” she tells you, “but I think that will be good. I could introduce all of you. She’ll like that. She’ll think I’m back to normal.”

 You try not to react to her choice of words, but her expression tells you you fail.

 “I don’t mean as in…my sexuality,” Lexa clarifies. “And I know there’s nothing abnormal about who I am, I just meant to say -I hung out with a lot of people freshman year, before... Costia always did draw in an crowd.” She smiles, and it’s a little tinged with sadness but she no longer struggles with saying the girl’s name, and there has to be something positive about that. “After everything happened…you know. And I don’t want my mom to think I’m in the bad place I was last year.”

 “Is that because you don’t want to go back to taking your medication, or-”

 “That too. But…” Lexa shrugs. You can’t begin to understand the complicated relationship she has with her mother, but you want to try. “I just want her to look at me and think ‘my daughter’s happy’.”

 “You are, aren’t you?” You ask, and you don’t know where the hint of insecurity comes from.

 “Yes, Clarke.” Her hand finds yours like it’s second nature, in front of everyone, and you believe her. “I’m the happiest I’ve been in a while. I think…maybe ever. I know you don’t like my mom, and it’s true we have a lot of stuff between us, but I want her to see I’m doing okay. I’m sorry she can’t know…but it’s not for always. Just for now.”

 Lexa looks like she’s desperate for you to believe her, so you do. Even if it wasn’t true, you can’t possibly care.

 “You’re…you’re so important to me,” Lexa tells you, and your heart skips a bit. The damn thing stutters in your chest. “I haven’t told you how much you mean to me,” she says, but you want to tell her she doesn’t need to. She’s shown you enough, and it leaves you breathless. “I haven’t found the words yet but I should. God, Clarke, you were like the fucking sun to me when I was wasting away in the dark. And that’s not even why I fell in love with you.”

 Her eyes are earnest and green and you kiss her, quick and hard. She gasps against your lips and the press of them is clumsy and a little off mark but you savor each second, forgetting about everything, including the fact that you’re in the middle of your campus. She smiles bashfully then, as if realizing what she said, or perhaps where you are.

 She rubs her thumb over your knuckles.

 “I’m sorry,” she says. “I know it’s not fair to you-”

 “Lex-”

 “It’s not. It’s not fair, and I’m sorry.”

 “I don’t care, Lexa, I mean it when I say that.” You could give less of a shit about her parents, or having to pretend you’re just her friend in front of her mom. It’s nothing, if it makes Lexa safe and comfortable and gives her a better relationship with her mother. What you don’t think it’s fair is that she has to bend over backwards to please them.

 That isn’t her fault, and you’ll never hold it against her.

 “And I’m thankful, but it’s not forever, I promise. I just need time to figure out what I’m gonna do, okay? I’ll tell my mom when I can be sure my father won’t find out-”

 “Lexa,” you call out softly. “You don’t have to worry about any of that now, okay?”

  You’re very aware that despite everything alight in your chest, you’ve been together for a short time, and you won’t hurry her to flip over her life to accommodate a need for a ‘meet the parents’ dinner you don’t have. 

“They don’t have to know until you feel okay telling them, yeah?” You’re not going to begrudge her the time she needs, especially after everything she went through with her last relationship. You want to -no, you need to protect her. This will just ensure that. You won’t be with her everyday during summer, so you need to know she’ll be safe. “I’ll be your best friend when I visit you in the summer,” you tell her. “I can even talk about my boyfriend in an annoyingly nasal voice if it will help.”

 You chuckle at your own joke. Lexa doesn’t. 

“No boyfriends, please.”

 “Why? You jealous?” you tease, but you get a feeling it’s not that.

 “You’re intelligent, and creative, and kind.” They’re different words than anyone has used to describe you before, and you fall a little more for her then. She caresses your cheek before tucking an errant strand of hair under your ear. “Apart from absolutely gorgeous. Anyone in this world would be lucky to be with you. But I won’t be jealous of your fake boyfriend, I’ll just be…sad, that I pushed you to lie.”

 You want to interrupt her, but she keeps speaking. 

“Actually lie, not just by omission. I’m aware of how lucky I am, Clarke, and still not completely sure what I did to deserve you-”

 “ _Lexa_ …”  Your eyes burn a little, and she smiles weakly at you.

 “I think I’m beginning to find words.”

  

 

“I can borrow Gus’ car, and pick you up,” Lexa offers. “I told him about us.” Her smile is small and fond and you’re so happy she at least has this man.

 “What did he say?”

 “He’s really happy for me.”

 

 

“I just don’t want you to think I’m ashamed of you, or of us. I’m not.” Lexa squeezes your hand. “I love you.”

 You can’t help but grin. 

“That’s three times now.”

 “Are you going to keep count?” Lexa asks.

 “Mmhn,” you sing-song, nodding.

 “Good luck. You’re going to lose count.”

 

 

“I’m not a coward.” 

“Huh?”

 “I don’t run from fights, I never used to. I don’t want…you to think I’m a coward,” she says softly. “Or that I’m scared of my dad. I mean…I am scared.” You can hear how hard it is for her to say that. “But not for myself. Clarke, this summer…sometimes you have to concede a battle to win a war.” 

 You don’t ask her what she means.

  

.

  

“Is it fair that she’s pushing you back into the closet?” Octavia asks from her bed, and you bite back your immediate, defensive reply.

 “I don’t think I was ever in the closet, O,” you say, hoping to soften the atmosphere with a joke. “I told my parents and everyone I knew like a week after I realized I was bi.” 

“Exactly. I mean, if you were just having fun I’d get it, but you aren’t. I’m just a little worried about Lexa not being as…committed as you are.”

 Your faith doesn’t shake. Realistically you can’t let your girlfriend risk getting kicked out by her mom, or having to find a job to support herself, or any number of shitty things that could happen if she fell out of their good graces.

 “I’m not going to ask her to upturn everything for me, O. If my girlfriend’s life is going to be easier if I pretend we’re just friends, then I don’t mind. It’s just in front of her mother. Everyone who matters knows we’re dating. My parents kind of love her from afar. _You_ like her, don’t you?”

 “Yes, I do like her,” O says, and she means it. She never invites people she doesn’t really like to pre-game, because it’s bad for her luck. “But she’s got some crap to deal with.” 

“We all do, Octavia,” you tell her. “Having someone to share it with is what makes it all bearable. You have Lincoln, you know that.”

 Octavia smiles, small, honest, just a little wistful. You know she’s thinking of the same thing as you, the accident that changed you all. If anyone even begun to understand your guilt it was Octavia. 

“Look at you, so mature. So grounded.” She rolls her eyes to hide what you think might be tears. “You think we’ll have a double wedding?”

  

.

  

You catch your breath against Lexa’s shoulder. 

You’re still riding the high from your release, still caught up in the way Lexa’s fingers dug into your hip, encouraging you to move against her thigh, how she looked drunk on your pleasure, how you were looking at her when you finally came.

 You catch your breath and let your tongue slip out to taste the salt off her skin.

 You let your finger slip down her abdomen, the muscles tightening beneath your touch. Lexa shivers, and you smile.

 “Is this okay?” you ask, trailing your fingers across her inner thigh.

 “Yes.” She brings you closer by the nape of your neck, and kissing you. It veers you off track for a second, and for all you want to claim you’re good in bed, the fact stands that your girlfriend can kiss you silly.

 You bite at her lip, and get back to work. You sit up a little, leaning over her so you can use your fingers. You slip a finger inside, testing. Lexa is tight, and a little tense. And she’s letting you be inside her, that doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

 “Yeah?” You check in.

 Lexa nods.

 “Relax, babe.”

 You pull out before pushing back in, deeper than before, and Lexa flinches.

 “Sorry.” You pull away altogether, and Lexa follows you. “Uh, there’s lube here, somewhere,” you offer. “Octavia raided Planned Parenthood a few weeks ago. Or we can do something else. Do you want me to go down on you?” You’re eager to please her, but she says nothing for a second. “We don’t have to do anything at all.”

 “No!” Lexa says, and it’s loud in the quiet of the room. She blushes prettily. “I do want to…” she trails off, quieter.

 “What do you want?” you ask her, at her disposal. She lays back down on the pillows, staring at the roof. She seems embarrassed, and you kiss her shoulder while she gathers herself to answer. You don’t want there to be any of that when you’re in bed together.

 “I want your fingers inside of me,” Lexa says finally. “But I’ve only done that twice, and my mom caught us the second time.” She glances at you. “It makes me nervous.”

 You know about what happened with Costia, and you’re the only one she’s been with since then, so of course it would bring some of that back. She looks ashamed, and you kiss that away.

 “The door is locked, no one’s coming in here,” you promise, then kiss her cheek. “I just want to make you feel good.” You take her bottom lip between yours, and sink into a kiss -when you pull away, Lexa whines. It makes you smile. “Give me one second. Okay?”

 You climb out of the bed, and immediately regret it, when the cold air makes goosebumps spread across your arms and your nipples pucker out. But you’re on a mission.

 You go through Octavia’s desk quickly, full of knick-knacks and ponytails.

You’re naked and in a hurry to go back to the warmth of your bed and Lexa’s arms, your boobs jump with every boxer shuffle on the cold floors -and then you find it. 

“ _Bingo_ ,” you exclaim, and it’s a little ridiculous. Lexa giggles from your bunk. 

You climb the stairs quickly, and sigh at the warmth that welcomes you.

 “Hi again,” you tell Lexa.

 “Hi.” She curls around you, her legs tangling with yours.

 You kiss, and don’t miss the way Lexa grabs your hand and moves it downward.

 You take your time now, let your hand cup her for a second, feel the neat, trimmed hair against your hand. Your tongue licks into her mouth when you seek out the tiny pebble, and Lexa’s hand sinks in your hair, keeping you trapped. There’s nowhere else you’d want to go.

 You wait until her breath comes fast, until her chest is flushed and her lips are beautifully gasping and open, to tear open the packet of lube. You coat two fingers on your left hand. 

Lexa jumps a little at the temperature when you rest just outside her opening.

 “Yeah?” you ask.

 “Please.”

 You test with just the one, barely a knuckle sinking in.

 “Does that feel better?”

 Lexa nods, and her eyes go a little unfocused.

 “Tell me what you like,” you ask against her ear, moving your finger to get her ready.

 “Just…ah, just press…”

 You curl your finger, barely moving at all but applying constant pressure.

 “Like that?”

 Lexa nods, biting her lip. You can feel it, when her whole body goes tight in a different way, and she starts moving with you, in these sharp little thrusts that rip quiet moans from her throat.

 You touch her clit with your thumb and she grasps your shoulder, scratching with short fingernails to bring you closer. She moans into your neck and the sound reverberates, makes your stomach clench with pleasure. You’ve never felt this good making someone else feel good, you swear you could come just from the way Lexa sounds.

 You kiss her neck, tasting the salt of sweat across her skin. She whimpers, and you pull away.

 You’re shocked to find her eyes are wet.

 “Shit, am I hurting you?” 

“No! No, I’m sorry.” Her hand covers your own between her legs, encouraging you. “Please, don’t stop-”

 “You’re okay babe.” You kiss her, as much as you can with the way you’re moving, bumping mouths but you don’t care. “I’ve got you.”

 She trembles against you, and it’s only a few more figure eights around her engorged little pebble before she’s coming, and it’s fucking beautiful.

 Lexa cries out, a keening little moan you didn’t know she was capable off leaving her lips. She clamps her legs together as she rides the aftershocks leaving your fingers trapped but you don’t care. Her chest is flushed pink, and you feel a new flood of thick wetness around your fingers. If you went for another round you definitely wouldn’t need Octavia’s lube.

 You catch your breaths, and Lexa curls against your shoulder, making a pleased little noise from the back of her throat. You rub her sweat-slick shoulder.

 She clears her throat, after a moment. “…I’m sorry I cried.”

 “Don’t be sorry,” you say earnestly. “Unless you’re crying because I’m that bad.” If how quickly Lexa always comes is a sign, you’d say you’re not too shabby. Or she’s just trigger happy.

 “Are you fishing for compliments?”

 “No. I have a healthy self-esteem, Lexa.”

 “I love everything you do,” Lexa tells you, and it makes your chest pleasantly warm. Proud. “That’s kind of it. It’s just…a lot.”

 You smile against her hair.

 “I’m sure you’re not the only person to cry when she comes,” you tell her, teasing. “There are probably support groups.”

 “Stop it,” Lexa grumbles.

“I think it’s cute.”

 “ _Clarke._ ”

 You kiss her again, you can’t help it, and it’s deep and warm, obscene with the way your tongues move against each other. You pull away little by little, kissing her bottom lip and then her chin. You press the smallest of kisses to Lexa’s nose.

 “Are you going to take a little nap now?”

 “You’re insufferable,” Lexa complains. She still smiles.

  

.

 

 You sit outside the pathway to your dorm room, in one of the benches you drew Lexa in what feels like a hundred years ago. You wait for her now, your hands tucked inside your jacket against the wind. You wonder what’s there for lunch, and hope Raven keeps her promise to save you some desert. Lexa is just coming out of a class at this hour, and you promised to wait for her here. It takes another five minutes but you finally see her, walking up the stone road.She stops in front of you, a sweet smile growing in her face, and kisses you, but you frown into it.

 “This is the second time today you taste like coffee,” you mention. “You don’t even like coffee that much Lex, what’s up?” You hope you don’t sound crazy, but you can’t help it. “You look a bit tired, too, babe,” you say, brushing her hair away from her face. Lexa leans into your hand.

 “I just had some trouble falling asleep last night, I needed caffeine to get through economics.”

 You nod. She hesitates for only a second before she keeps talking, sitting down next to you. Your hand covers her knee.

 “I’m just nervous about going back to my dad’s. I already sent him an e-mail, he’s coming to pick me up. Now…it’s just waiting. For me, the waiting is the worst part.”

  

.

 

 Lexa continues to be stressed as fuck about it for days.

  Every time you bring it up or even suggest she just doesn’t show up, she shuts you down or changes the subject. And you don’t want to push her. You understand, you guess, your 12 year old self got tied into enough uncomfortable fluffy dresses to attend your mother’s galas from the hospital to know what it feels likes to not have a choice.

 But it’s different, because your parents have never being anything short of great to you. Do you really have to be a good child when your parents aren’t good parents? Do you still owe them something then? You don’t know. You don’t think so.

 You walk to Lexa’s room one morning, intent on having breakfast with her and maybe sinking into bed to sleep a little longer. She’s not there. You wait for ten minutes and then catches Lexa coming back from a run. A crazy run, by the looks of it.

 Her chest and face are an angry red, and she’s heaving, her breaths coming in so fast it can’t be healthy.

 She gasps out that she’s fine, and you don’t even ogle when she takes off her tank top and walks around in her sports bra, cooling down. You remember what she told you about exercise helping with her anxiety, and don’t call her out on overexerting herself. You just want her to be okay, and if it helps…

 She devours most of the breakfast you brought for the two of you, and falls asleep with her head on your lap.

  

.

  

“Won’t your friends get jealous I’ve stolen you?”

 Lexa sits at the foot of her bed, laptop open in her lap. You don’t have to study, so you just lay on her bed, idly sketching her but mostly just staring. She’s leaving tomorrow back to her father’s, and you’d like to spend as much time together as possible. You went out for a walk after her post-run nap, and then got lunch with everyone. Lexa spent the afternoon studying, and now, a solid two hours since she cracked open the first book, your girlfriend is looking just a bit annoyed at your lack of drive.

 “They can deal.” 

“But won’t they be worried?” Lexa insists. You frown slightly.

 “Are you kicking me out?”

 “No! No, of course not. You can stay here.” Lexa bites her lip. “I just…I want to go for a run,” she says, sheepish.

 You blush a little, because you don’t want to intrude on Lexa’s personal time, but in the middle of getting up -you stop.

 “A run like this morning’s?” you ask her. That can’t be healthy. Lexa scratches her forehead.

 “I told you, Clarke. I just need to be tired sometimes,” she explains. “I need to sweat and get my heart rate up. It’s relaxing.”

 You snort at that, but stop when Lexa looks peeved.

 “My father is picking me up in the morning," Lexa says, "I can’t be anxious.” The mention of her progenitor (who you’ve drawn in your sketchbook as a devil not unlike Hellboy) makes the atmosphere somber. You intend to change that. She’s stressed, she has been the whole week, and you can see it in the tense line of her shoulders and the current way in which she moves her jaw.

 “Okay,” you say. “Though, you know…” You sit up, crawling across her bed. Lexa’s eyes follow you, and you can tell you have her when she frowns a little. “If you want to be tired I have a better idea.” It’s a shitty line, as far as those go, but Lexa falls for it. The frown slips away, leaving a half-smile on her lips.

 You bring her in by her shirt, your mouth covering hers. She moans quietly when you go at it, not waiting before your tongue traces the seam of her lips.

 “Pants off,” you order, breathless.

 “You could be a little more romantic,” Lexa says, but her hands are on the button of her jeans nonetheless.

 “Pants off, dearest,” you say. Intimacy is still new and exciting and you honestly can’t imagine a day where it won’t be.

“ _Clarke,_ ” Lexa whines, a smile on her face as she steps out of her pants. The mention of her father goes away like a dark cloud, and you just want to keep at this, making her laugh, making her feel good.

 You take off your shirt, and reach behind you for your bra clasp.

 “Let me,” Lexa pleads, and you do. Watching her face as she takes off your bra? Feeling her plump lips leave a smattering of wet kiss across your breast before taking a nipple in her mouth? Those will never get old.

 “Lexa, this is about you,” you tell her, regretfully pushing her away.

 “That was the best part of my day,” Lexa promises, her hands covering where her mouth just was. You chuckle.

 “But we had breakfast together. I can’t believe it’s just my body you want,” you say mockingly.

 “Second best part of my day,” Lexa amends, kissing your neck.

 “I’m serious, forget about my boobs for a second.”

 “Impossible.”

 “I want these off,” you tell her, fingers on her underwear. “Off, off,” you chant, pushing her panties down. She helps you, balancing in one hand, and you’re surprised she doesn’t fall face first into your tits. You don’t think she’d mind.

 “Show off,” you tell her, capturing her lips again. Sex with Lexa, all two time of it, has been gentle and loving and sensual and you love it, you absolutely adore it, but you want this differently. You need to exhaust her or she’ll do it herself. “Get on top of me,” you order, and Lexa follows suit. You make her straddle your lap, and slip your hand between her legs, testing.

 “God, you’re so wet already, Lexa,” you mention, voice throaty and low. “Do you like it when I boss you around?”

 Lexa makes a sound from the back of her throat, and you kiss her again, harder.

 “Can I?”

 She nods, and you push a single knuckle inside. She gasps a little at that, breaking the kiss. She waits for you to move, but you don’t. She’s scorching hot, you feel like you dipped your finger into molten lava. You only use one for now. She’s tight, and you know that probably means she’s nervous.

 “You’re going to work for it,” you tell her.

 “Clarke,” her voice sounds pleading, raw, and you haven’t even truly gotten started yet.

 “Come on, move.” You pull out of her gently, only to gather wetness with your middle finger and gently push that one inside, getting ready to stretch her out. “Move gorgeous,” you whisper in her ear, encouraging her.

 She tentatively thrusts her hips forward, and its clumsy, unpracticed. Every time she thrust against you you circle her clit with the thumb of your other hand.

 “I…it’s not enough.” She frowns.

 “Sure it is, you gotta make it happen.”

 She bites her lip, practices grinding and thrusting a few more times, but you can see it’s not doing it for her. She’s only naked from the waist down and she’s blushing, she’s thinking too hard.

 “Don’t think about it,” you tell her. “Close your eyes, baby. Don’t think, just feel. Do whatever feels good.”

 Lexa looks at you, lips glistening and eyes wide -spread open in every sense of the word, and all for you. She closes her eyes, trusting you.

 She quickly gets a rhythm going, moving her hips in a circle as she looks for friction, and you can feel when she gets it, when she goes down harder but slower, getting your fingers in deep. You can hear the little desperate sounds she won’t let out, the way she pulls you closer and closer.

 And she grumbles in annoyance when you stop toying with her clit each time she pulls back.

 “Come on babe, faster. You wanna come don't you?” You gently bite her ear, and she moans so loud you worry about the people next door for the first time. “Come on, Lexa.”

 You attach your mouth to her collarbone, sucking the skin into your mouth. Lexa cries out, stutters in her rhythm before picking it back up, these sensual little grunts leaving her lips.

 Octavia once told you you sounded like a porn star. (She and Raven would never let you live down forgetting that they were still outside your room after a party.) You’re not sure about that, but you’re not quiet. Lexa is, she’s so quiet in her pleasure. Where you’re high and keening cries she’s soft low grunts and the odd moan that makes sharp pleasure flare between your legs so hard it’s painful. She’s quiet and you make it a personal challenge to get sounds out of her.

 She likes to kiss you when you’re inside her like this, you’ve gathered that much, hold you close, but now her hand fists the sheet at your side, the other underneath your shoulder, blunt nails pressing into your skin.

 Her mouth hangs open as she moves faster, until she’s barely moving away at all, just close and hot against your thigh, your finger deep inside her.

You pull out of her and she whines, but you add another one, sinking both fingers into her wet warmth. Her moan as she adjusts to the stretch makes you even wetter. You rub tight little circles on her clit as she pants, moving harder against your fingers.

 Your hand starts to ache but you ignore it. Lexa looks damn gorgeous like this. Sweat covers her body and her thighs tremble with effort.

 And then she presses right up against you, hard, and stays there, her hips jumping of their own accord. She comes like she’s surprised, a single ‘Ah’ leaving her lips unchecked, forehead pressed against your pillow, mouth against your shoulder.

 She falls limply on top of you, and when you drag your fingers out of her she whimpers. You wipe your hand on the sheets.

 “You still want to go running?”

 “Shut up.” She gets you to do that with a kiss, and you don’t mention it takes her two tries before she’s able to keep herself on her forearm leaning over you.

 You’re embarrassingly close when she touches you, her hand sneaking beneath your underwear and shorts, and it doesn’t take more than a minute or two of attention to your clit before you’re coming, the waves of pleasure pulling a moan from deep within your throat. You’re exhausted. Lexa clearly is too.

 The sheets are lightly damp with sweat, and you feel sorry for Finn whenever he comes to his room because you can smell what you’ve been doing in the air. You must be a terrible person because you don’t really care.

 Lexa sighs, nestling against your side, and you play with her hair, letting the slightly frizzy strands run through your fingers. You contain a smirk. You gave her sex hair.  You run your fingers down her cheek and neck.

 You trail over the dark bruise on the juncture between her neck and shoulder. Her clothes should cover it. You kiss the mark softly and Lexa whines.

 “Does it hurt?” you ask her.

 “A little. Did you give me a hickey?”

 “I won’t see you the whole weekend,” you tell her, kissing the mark. “Something to remember me by.”

 “I don't need anything to remember you, Clarke,” she tells you. “You’re always on my mind.”

 

 .

 

 “Are you guys having sex?” Octavia asks in the dark of the room.

You made your way to your dorm room after dinner, Lexa still loose and happy and you incredibly pleased with yourself, and it wasn’t even a question that you’d spend the night together.

“No, O.” You answer, rolling your eyes, not even bothering to look to your right and meet hers across the top bunks. Lexa just burrows further against you, and you bring your hand to the back of her head. “Don’t you think you’d know if we were having sex?”

“I’ve never had sex with a girl, I don’t know how it works.”

“You don’t need to have had sex with a girl to know how it works,” Raven pipes up.

“I thought you were asleep,” Octavia said.

“I’m always up for a good round of Let’s Lowkey Insult Peoples’ Sexualities,” Raven says.

“I wasn’t,” O replies. “I wasn’t, was I Clarke?”

“No comment,” you say. Lexa muffles a laugh against your collarbone.

“If they were having sex don’t you think actual newborn kitten Clarke Griffin would have come out to play?” Raven asks.

“Damn, I almost forgot about that. Does Lexa know about that?”

“She probably does, O”

“True.” Octavia is quiet for a second. “Does Clarke sound like a kitten when you do it, Lexa?”

“Hey, I’m sorry,” you tell Lexa. She’s warm and pliant against you, her head hidden away in the crook of your neck. She’s curled up against you, and you run your hands softly up and down her back. “I can tell them to shut up.”

Lexa presses a gentle kiss to your chest.

“It’s okay,” she says quietly.

“See? She’s asleep. Like you should be,” Raven says.

“Okay, mom.”

“Call me daddy.”

“I preferred it when Lexa was my roommate,” you say out loud.

“That hurt.”

“Harsh.”

You chuckle, and kiss Lexa’s forehead.

She holds you closer before sinking into her pillow, and you’re glad she can draw some semblance of calm from you, that you bring her some comfort.

“Go to sleep, sweet girl.”

 

.

 

 You sit next to Lexa in the staircase to Root Hall, the closest to the main parking lot.

You pay no attention to the students walking up and down the stairs, your mind on Lexa. She looks good, in her dark jeans and plain, long-sleeved t-shirt, a brown jacket in her arm for the cold of the car. She told you her father loves to crank up the air conditioning. She sits next to you, her backpack at your feet, looking just a little nervous. She passes her cell-phone back and forth in her hands.

“It’s going to be fine,” you tell her, and she gives you a smile.

“I know.”

You rest your forehead against hers, and the only reason you know she allows that is because the wall of the building shields you from the parking lot.

“Text me when you can, okay?” you ask, and she nods before kissing you.

The ringing of her cell-phone interrupts you.

“He’s here,” she says, and her eyes are wide. She swallows. “I can’t keep him waiting.”

You nod.

“I love you,” she says hurriedly, as you hand her her bag. “Bye.” She kisses you again, fast, and then she’s on her way to the parking lot.

You stay where you are, watching.

She’s waiting on the curb when the sleek platinum car stops. It’s a BMW, not the newest model but well taken care off. You watch Lexa stand firmly, back straight and shoulders pushed back. If she looked nervous next to you, it was only because she allowed you to see her that way. She doesn’t look unsure right now at all. You can’t see her face, but you’re willing to bet a composed mask has fallen over her features.

A tall man steps out of the car, and you finally put a face to the name Titus Woods.

He’s bald, but not like he’s that old. It looks like he shaves his head. He wears black pants and a pastel button down, and you immediately despise his looks because they’re so…normal. No one would look at him and know this man terrified a 16 year old girl with his buddies one night. That he hurt his daughter so badly.

No one would guess but you know, and you detest him already. You don’t see that changing.

He takes a look at Lexa, and you hold your breath. Every fiber of your being just wants to grab her and run away, just tell her it was a bad idea and hide away with her until her father forgets he wanted her home for a dinner.

 He surprises you then, stepping forward and hugging Lexa.

 You can tell she’s surprised too, if her straight arms are anything to go by.

 She hugs him back with her free hand after a moment, gingerly, her other one grabbing her backpack. She finally decided on a dress with black leggings and a cardigan, and you helped her pack it that morning, right after you ran from your dorm to hers when the sun was barely even out.

 Her father steps back, his arms over Lexa’s shoulders. He tells her something then, and you can’t see what Lexa’s doing, but you don’t dare move. She looks small next to him, and you’re not used to that. He and Lexa talk a little bit, and you flinch when he pats her cheek. She doesn’t seem overly bothered by the gesture, and after some words he takes the bag from her hand and leads them toward the car.

It's only when the car turns around the curb that you remember you didn't get a chance to tell Lexa you love her back.

 You watch them drive away.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After reading some feedback from you guys, I thought it wasn't fair to have so few chapters of them in a relationship after such a long build-up, so instead of leaving the story on a cliffhanger and continuing it in Lexa's pov fic, i'll finish it here. That way this story will have closure and the sequel(s) will be entirely optative. 
> 
> You can talk to me on [tumblr](http://reyandsmoak.tumblr.com/ask), [curious cat](https://curiouscat.me/anddirtyrain), or leave me a comment below, I love hearing what you think.


	25. may, part four

 

 

 **1:37 pm**  
**ClarkeGriffin**  
Are you there yet?

  

 **1:37 pm**  
**Lexa <3**  
No

 

Just to be a bother, you text her again. 

 **1:38 pm**  
**ClarkeGriffin  
** How about now?

 

 **1:38 pm**  
**Lexa <3  
**Aren’t those my lines? 

 **1:38 pm**  
**ClarkeGriffin  
** I’m just bored

 **1:38 pm**  
**Lexa <3  
**Don’t you have to study for your art history final?

 

 Maybe it’s dumb, but you like that she remembers your classes, that she offered to help you study before she left. She’s mostly done with her unholy amount of work, but then again, you’re not as good as compartmentalizing. Between sex and worry and sex, you kind of haven’t thought about school at all.

  

 **1:39 pm**  
**ClarkeGriffin  
** Can’t focus without you.

 **1:39 pm**  
**Lexa <3**  
You can’t focus WITH me either.  
See, this wknd will be good for both of us

  **1:39 pm**  
**ClarkeGriffin  
** Mean

 

You bite your tongue, smiling at your own dumb texts. You feel like a middle-schooler again. Plus the fact Lexa seems fine eases your worries over the weekend at her father’s. You still miss her, though.

  

 **1:40pm**  
**Lexa <3**  
Gotta go  
I’ll call you soon, ok?  
Love you

  

You delight in typing every word.

 **1:40 pm**  
**ClarkeGriffin  
** I love you too

  

.

  

The dirty sweatshirt lands in the middle of your face, a true feat considering you’re 6 feet above the ground in your bed. Octavia did always had good aim and a good arm. 

“Get up,” she orders. You throw her disgusting dirty laundry back at her.

 “I told you I don’t feel like going out, Jesus.” 

“And that’s exactly why we’re going,” Octavia tells you. “You’re being a mopey little shit right now. Let’s go.” 

You’ve been texting Lexa on and off since she left yesterday, but she seems busy, and you don’t want to bother her. You don’t have it in you to study for your last final, either, which would be a problem if you couldn’t afford to get a bad grade and still pass. (You won’t get a bad grade, though; you remember enough from the last time Lexa went over the material with you that you’re confident you’ll manage a B+.) 

“Octavia,” you whine, intentionally being a little shit now. 

“Come on. Raven will be here any second.” 

It takes a slap on the ass with a wet towel to finally get you to leave your bed, but you do. 

 

. 

 

The mall is quite empty for a Sunday. 

It’s the smaller, plaza style mall that’s near campus. You and your friends don’t visit it as often because it doesn’t a movie theater. (You’re thankful Raven picks this one instead of the larger, more popular mall you frequent, because you still have bad memories of Lexa’s panic attack there.) As spring bleeds into summer, the weather is just hot enough for you to wear shorts and a tank top -you shamelessly took a picture before you left and sent it to Lexa- and pair it with sandals.

 You walk around aimlessly for a while, until you find a store with cocktail dresses on its display window, and attractive signs promising discounts. It’s enough to get you to enter. Commencement day is coming up, and you haven’t given much thought to it other than looking nice and getting ready with Lexa. It wouldn’t hurt to have a new dress, too.

 You try the clothes on at the same time, and the store is empty enough that you take your time, walking out and giving opinions on each other before trying each new thing. A blue dress you try on is too tight, and a red one Raven chooses looks amazing on her -but you all agree that it’s too much for what’s supposed to be a ‘serious, solemn occasion’. You don’t think anyone but Bellamy would call it that, except Lexa, maybe. You can already imagine the two of you graduating together, and the thought is enough to put a smile on your face. Octavia notices, of course she does, and makes a show of sticking her finger down her throat, gagging.

 You roll your eyes. 

You walk around the store while they try other things, having found nothing that is worth buying yet. You want to look good, serious but not too serious, sexy but not overly so. You only want Lexa’s eyes on you. And then you see it, on the back of the store.

 It’s a dark green dress, black lace covering the sweetheart neckline and making up the long sleeves. Red flowers and vine creep up from the bottom, which must fall just above your knees. It’s a beautiful dress, and it’s only a very faint thought at the back of your mind that it matches Lexa’s eyes. You truly are lovesick. And the dress is truly perfect. 

You don’t think so once you actually try it on, though. It’s a size medium, your usual, but the dress it’s too tight across your boobs. You can’t breathe after Octavia zips it up. It looks great on the rest of your body, hugs your waist just right, but…no. It’s not going to work. 

“Big boob privilege, Griffin,” Octavia tells you jokingly, and you huff. 

“I’ll get you a bigger one,” Raven tells you, and returns with a size large. It’s a small miracle they have one, and so you close the door to try it on. It’s…better, but it doesn’t convince you. With extra shelf size (that makes your chest look bangin’) comes extra everything else, and your waist looks shapeless. There’s extra fabric where you want it but also where you don’t. 

You frown at your reflection, and open the door for Raven and Octavia to take a look. Their expression is enough. 

“It was a really gorgeous dress,” Octavia helpfully points out. 

“You want me to fix this for you?” Raven asks, thumbing the fabric at your waist. When she pulls it back, it does look quite nice. You look beautiful. 

“Could you?” you ask. You know Raven has skills in every field, but you’ve never seen her sewing anything. 

“Sure, used to do it all the time when I was kid,” she mentions offhandedly. You know she doesn’t speak too much of her childhood. Past her nonchalance, you picture a younger Raven having to sew her own clothing and you squeeze her hand. 

“I don’t want to bother you,” you tell her. 

“It’s no problem,” she tells you, rolling her eyes at the brief sentimentality. “Besides, I get it, you want to look hot for your girlfriend. I’m only being a good friend.”

 You smile. 

“Thank you, Rae.” 

 

.

  

You grab a quick meal at the mall’s food court, and then follow Raven and Octavia as they walk around looking for shoes. There’s a pair of black heels you haven’t worn since Halloween back at your dorm, and that would go perfectly with your dress. 

You sit down in a bench while your friends enter yet another shoe store, and it’s a complete accident that your eyes fall on the shop near the end of the plaza. A sign in front advertises antique jewelry. It’s a small place, not Kay and certainly not Tiffany’s, but the bohemian, quirky storefront wins you over. The name -Courage My Love- it’s too interesting not to give it a chance. 

It smells like incense inside, and it’s almost more hippie than you can handle. An older man welcomes you when you walk in, but he doesn’t offer to help -retail stores could learn from him about giving customers their space. 

There are secondhand clothes near the back, and old, thick books lining one of the walls. You think Lexa might like the place. 

And beneath a crystal showcase, dozens upon dozens of rings and necklaces and bracelets, each unique among the others. Your eyes zone in on a small necklace with a teardrop shaped stone at its end. A galaxy shines inside the pendant, three words circling the stone in intricate, delicate gold metal.

 “Nice choice.” 

You nearly jump at the voice, and realize the old man has moved in front of the showcase. 

“That one is restored. The engraving around it was part of the original necklace, but I had the pendant replaced, the previous one was cracked.” He slides the glass door and reaches for the necklace with shaking hands. 

You look behind you, wondering if Raven and Octavia are done. 

The man hands you the necklace, and you’re surprised at how light it feels but how solid it looks. It’s beautiful, and you’re not much for jewelry unless there’s a special occasion, but you’d buy it for yourself. Now, though, you have another idea. 

“What does this mean?” You ask, running your fingers over the words around the stone. He tells you, and it cements your choice. You walk out of the store just in time to catch up to a confused Raven and Octavia, asking you where you’d been.

  

. 

 

You get back to campus in the late afternoon, arms laden with a few bags holding new dresses and shoes. You hadn’t realized how much you’d been neglecting your friends, and you cherish the feeling of having spent a good few hours reconnecting. It’s one thing to live together, but it’s another to know absolutely everything that’s been happening in their lives when you’ve been so immersed in yours -and Lexa’s. 

Octavia tells you and Raven about Indra’s invitation to spend a week or two of the summer with her and Lincoln, and Raven tells you her mother has called and wants Raven to stay with her during the summer. 

It feels like the dog days of sleepovers and pool days you used to have are drawing to an end, but it’s not bad. It feels like you’re growing up, but that doesn’t have to mean growing apart. 

 

.

 

 Your cell phone only rings once before you pick it up. Raven rolls her eyes at you as she fiddles with your dress -one side is done and she makes it look so easy. And you stick your tongue out at her, before going into the bathroom for privacy. 

“Hi.” 

“Hi.” Lexa sounds echo-y, and as glad to hear you as you are. 

“Where are you?” You wonder. 

“In the bathroom,” Lexa answers. 

“What are you wearing?” 

“Clarke.” 

“Had to try,” you say, and hear her laugh a little. “How was today?” 

“It was good, it’s been ages since I saw most of those people.” 

“And your dad?” 

“He was…okay.” You can almost hear her frown, the confused little thing she gets when something escapes her. It doesn’t happen very often. 

“You can talk to me, you know?” You remind her gently. 

“I know, baby, but it was okay. I mean it.” 

You don’t know if you’re more surprised about the pet name or that she sounds honest, but you’re happy about both. You hope her shitty dad had a change of heart and started treating her like she deserves. You hope she calls you ‘baby’ more often. 

“Okay,” you concede. 

“How was your day?” Lexa asks. 

“Good. I went out with the girls. My moping around was annoying them.” 

“Moping, huh?” 

“Well…I miss you.” It’s a ridiculous thing to be embarrassed about, considering everything you’ve done and gone through together, but it has only been a day. You have no idea how you’ll deal with the summer. 

“I miss you too,” Lexa tells you, and she doesn’t sound embarrassed in the least. 

You hum. “Did you like my picture?” 

Lexa is quiet for a second. 

“You’re terrible.” 

“I could send you another,” you tease. And hell, you’re not much of a fan of sexting but you’re this close to asking Lexa to try. 

“That’s inhumane, Clarke,” Lexa tells you, sounding a little choked up. 

“What is?” You sit down on the closed lid of the toilet, enjoying where the conversation is heading far too much. You enjoy getting to tease Lexa, to trade banter with her. Once you knew all of the deep, dark parts, it was so much easier for everything light to come to the surface. 

“Dangling an oasis in front of someone dying of thirst,” Lexa says. You hum. 

“See, what I’m hearing here is that you want to drink me up.” 

Lexa makes this sound at the back of her throat, and it comes so clearly through the line it send a twinge between your thighs. 

You hear a faint knocking coming from her side of the line, and your breath stops. 

You hear muffled voices from Lexa’s side, and you wonder if that’s her dad. 

“Lex?” 

“Sorry, I gotta go back downstairs and play nice,” Lexa tells you, though she doesn’t seem too bothered. 

“Everything okay?” 

“No, and it’s all your fault,” she says, playful. It puts you at ease. “Care to hold those thoughts until I get back?” 

“If I must.” 

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

. 

 

You finish your Art History exam last of the class, and it’s not that it’s a Monday and you didn’t study that much, but that you know Lexa is on her way back to campus and you hope focusing on the test will make time go by faster. 

Once you get out of class and turn your cell phone back on, you’re inundated with a barrage of texts. 

 

 **11:20am**  
**Lexa <3  
**There was almost no traffic

 **11:21am**  
**Lexa <3  
**I’m close to campus

 **11:32 am**  
 **Lexa <3  
**Are you in class?

 **11:36 am**  
 **Lexa <3  
**I’m here. I’m going to the cafeteria.

 

It’s 11:50. You’ve never been one to exercise, but you make it to the dining hall in record time, hoping she might still be there. It’s silly, but you haven’t seen her in two days, three if you count friday afternoon and this morning, and you missed your girlfriend.

 You find her on a corner of the cafeteria -you’d recognize that mane of her anywhere, and you slowly walk up to her from behind.

 She jumps when you cover her eyes. 

“Guess who,” you whisper, before kissing her cheek. 

She laughs, and grabs your wrists to bring you down to her level.

 Her lips taste like strawberry jam when they meet yours, and she smells like morning dew and soap and Lexa. You nudge her nose with your own.

 “Hi, stranger.”

 She gets out of her seat just to hug you tight, and you relish the feeling. It doesn’t seem to dawn on either of you that you’re in the middle of the dining hall, because you breathe each other in for a good minute.

 You sit down with her afterward and swipe some of her pancakes. Speaking face-to-face is so much better than texting, and you realize how much comfort you draw from telling her about your day. It’s kind of hard to believe that at some point there was distance between you.

 You hear her talk about her weekend with her dad, and you steel yourself to be there for her and support her -but she doesn’t seem to need it at all.

 “He used to call me Alexandria The Great when I was little, you know? I didn’t even know the real emperor was a guy until I was like 10,” Lexa mentions. “That’s…that’s the man I saw this weekend.”

 “So it was…he was okay?” You frown, you’re aware that you’re frowning, but you can’t reconcile the man she’s talking about with the stories you’ve heard before.

 “He was good to me,” Lexa says, and you don’t want to hear her defend such a hateful person but it sounds like it. “He’s still my dad, Clarke. Regardless of everything he’s done.”

 She shrugs, and since you don’t understand -you let it go.

 She’s happy, and it went well, and that’s what matters.

 

.

  

Your legs tremble as Lexa makes her way down, raining wet kisses over your thighs. The air dries them quickly and its cold and you can feel how wet you are, your legs spread open in a way that makes you feel deliciously vulnerable.

Lexa doesn’t hesitate before you feel her mouth on you.

You shudder. She’s careful, delicate. Begins with these tiny licks that you can barely feel, and you let out small giggle that turns into a gasp when Lexa presses her tongue down and licks all the way to your clit.

“Okay?” Lexa asks, and you let go of the sheet you don’t know when you began squeezing.

“Yeah. Ah, okay. Okay.”

She goes back to work, and you tangle your fingers in her head, careful of keeping them light.

Honestly, you didn’t expect to come, not the first time she went down on you. It’s not the orgasm you were after, you’d truly be content just laying back and enjoying the attention, but Lexa is something else. You don’t know if it’s how you feel about her that makes it so much better. If it’s because you missed her and every kiss and suck and lick feels like a gift, but you can feel your body climbing toward release and you’ve barely begun.

It usually takes you a while to teach someone how to work you, exactly what you like but…god. What Lexa might lack in that technique she makes up in pure enthusiasm and the abandon with which she eats you out.

You feel the familiar stirring start low on your stomach and you clench your thighs to help you along.

“Ah, God.”

Lexa looks up at you then, her mouth and chin shining. The sight is as wretchedly sinful as it is beautiful and you almost come from it alone.

“Fuck, keep going,” you plead breathlessly. “Babe, please.”

Her tongue goes back to work, running through your folds and circling around your clit beautifully.

When two of her fingers enter you -you’re gone.

Your entire body tightens, the pleasure spreading through your extremities and your stomach, warm and shivering and making your chest go red. You come around Lexa’s fingers, your walls beating around her and squeezing, once, twice, then again, in delicious pulses -it’s almost uncomfortable when she pulls them out. You close your legs, tight, and a shiver runs through your body. It only extends your pleasure, and you want to live in it for a little while longer.

You curl up against Lexa, still breathing hard, and she brushes the sweaty hair away from your forehead before pressing a kiss there. You smile faintly, so pleased and tired you could just fall asleep right then, with her fingers running up and down your naked back.

You feel so loved.

“It’s your turn,” you say, voice scratchy.

“I’m okay,” Lexa tells you. “You can go to sleep.”

You open your eyes, and study her flushed cheeks and dilated pupils for a second. She’s so turned on you can almost smell it, and you appreciate that she’d let you sleep when she hasn’t had hers yet, but Clarke Griffin isn’t bad in bed -much less rude.

“Nonsense.” You nudge onto her back, and intently kiss her sternum and down between the valley of her breast, you get to her belly button when Lexa grabs your chin, making you look at her.

“No, I wan’t…faster.” She’s not very articulate, but you think you catch her meaning. “I’m almost, I need-”

You climb up her body again and let your hand cup between her legs.

“You’re soaked,” you mention, and Lexa fucking whimpers.

She’s close, and you wonder if going down on you did it for her.

She brings you down and kisses you long and hard. You use what little strength you have left to hold yourself up above her and keep kissing her, while your other hand parts her folds and finds her clit.

Lexa jumps when you touch her for the first time. Her hips jump from the mattress in time with your fingers touching up and down -there’s no finesses to it, and even your kisses become sloppy, but soon enough Lexa’s biting your lip and coming with a moan that reverberates in the room.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful.” You can’t help saying it.

You stop touching her when her hand covers your own, and you lay there for a moment like that. Your hands almost intertwined between her legs and half your body covering hers, both of you sweaty and sated. You don’t ever want to move.

You do, after a minute, you kind of have to considering Lexa has a roommate that might arrive any time soon. The room smells like sex. The sheets are cool and damp with sweat, and there’s an actual wet spot that might be your fluids and Lexa’s saliva -you need to clean up.

Lexa follows your train of thought, because she sits up a minute after you, and starts pulling the sheets. You have to regain your bearings for a second, because Lexa doesn’t bother to cover up, and you so enjoy the intimacy of watching her move naked. Your eyes follow the lines of her body and her breasts, and her long hair, tangled by your fingers.

She catches you staring, and you wink, unapologetic.

You get off the sheets to help her and sit down on the bare mattress.

“I don’t want to go to that god awful bathroom to clean up,” you mention, wiping your fingers against the discarded sheets. The communal showers are a long ago nightmare, and you’re not putting your shoes back on just to wash your hands and run a wet towel between your legs.

“Then don’t,” Lexa says, shrugging.

You get up on your knees and put your mouth close to her ear.

“But then I’ll be able to smell you on my fingers tomorrow during class, and then how am I supposed to get anything done?”

She gulps. You see it, and smile, a little proud of yourself.

“Hold on.”

She reaches over you to her nightstand, and when she sits back down there’s a small bottle of hand sanitizer in her hands. Because, of course.

You almost snort, but you accept the cherry scented alcohol any way.

You change into a pair of Lexa’s shorts and your tank top, and send a quick text to Raven and Octavia telling them you won’t go back to your room tonight. The emojis they send you in return go ignored. You just had the best orgasm of your life -you’re the real winner here, and no teasing will bring you down.

Lexa puts fresh sheets on the mattress, and at the sight of a warm bed and your lovely girlfriend, every ounce of exhaustion makes itself present -along with how much you missed holding her these last few days.

You curl up with Lexa behind you and drift off to sleep in minutes, feeling so incredibly safe.

 

.

 

You pass your Art History exam with an A-.

The school year is officially over after you collect the piece of paper, and you breathe easy.

There’s still Octavia’s last game in two days, and the Commencement ceremony at the end of the week, but classes are done and summer is just around the corner.

You almost miss her as you’re walking down the stairs.

Your eyes are stuck to the ground, but when faced with a pair of lovely legs you know intimately well from having them wrapped around your head, you look up.

Lexa is wearing a dress, this white gauzy thing that you’re almost sure is the same one she wore after Spring Break. She has one hand behind her back, and your mouth breaks out in a smile.

“What are you doing?” you ask.

“How did you do in your exam?”

“I got an A.” You cock your head to the side. “Lexa-”

She pulls out a yellow flower from behind her back. You grab it, giddy.

“What are you doing?” you ask again.

“I’m taking my girlfriend out on a date,” she says, and holds out her arm for you to take. “And the Uber is here, so… After you, m’lady.”

You chuckle with delight, and follow after her.

 

The place seems fancy from the outside, but in the inside it’s dim and homey enough that you don’t feel self-conscious about your jeans and t-shirt combo.

“Anya took me here for my last birthday,” Lexa tells you while you get seated. “They serve amazing pasta.” She leads you by the hand to your table.

“That’s…September 19th, right?” It’s kind of crazy to believe that you might get that answer wrong. That you know her so deeply in some ways, and yet not enough in others.

“Yeah.”

You sit down at a booth along the side wall, illuminated by two thick, sweet smelling candles and so wholly romantic you fall a little deeper.

“Can you believe this is only our…what? Third date?” You ask Lexa. She smiles.

“Should we discuss the weather?”

“No.” You lay your head on top of your hands. “Tell me something about you I don’t know.” You know all the sad, dark parts about each other, all the grief -but you want the curiosity of a younger Lexa, or the dreams of the one you have.

“I…I was in karate when I was little,” Lexa mentions. 

“Really? You were bruising up other little kids when you were what? Five?”

 “Six. My parents pulled me out when I kept running around the house yelling and trying to snap things in half. Oh, and my mom thought it wasn’t girly. I lasted more in ballet.”

“Ballet?” You forgo you looking at the menu to listen intently. Lexa nods.

 “I was seven. Did it for…almost a year. If you ask nicely I’ll do a pirouette for you. Think I still got it.”

 You chuckle.  
  
“You’re such a girly girl.” Lexa raises her eyebrow, and you explain. “Your shower gel has glitter, babe.”

 Lexa shrugs, blushing.

 “I like how it smells.”

 “Sure,” you grant her, winking. “So ballet and karate? You’re a box of surprises.”

 “There’s a lot you don’t know about me yet,” Lexa teases.

 “That’s okay, we have all the time in the world to really get to know each other.”

 “Did you do anything?” Lexa asks.

 “As a kid? Eat. I had a terrible sweet tooth.”

 “Some things don’t change.”

 You gasp, mock offended. 

“It’s not as cool as karate, but my dad and Well’s dad used to take us with them fishing sometimes. I used to really like camping back then.”

 “How old were you?” Lexa wonders.

 “Five, six.”

 “That explains it.” She laughs at your expression. “I still can’t believe you accepted to go hiking with me during Spring Break.”

 “I was crushing on you,” you tell her. “I would’ve done anything you asked.”

 Lexa stops at that, her cheeks a pretty pink and the teasing smile all but gone. She gives you a smile that’s very tender.

 “Tell me about it,” Lexa says, and you hear the invitation for what it is. A chance to talk about someone you loved and lost. She’s returning the favor.

 “Wells felt so bad about the fish we would play in the woods most of the time while our dads did all the fishing.” You smile. He was so good, so kind.

 “I think I would have liked Wells,” Lexa tells you.

 “I think he would have really liked you too.” He was the closest to a brother you had, and now that you’ve started is so hard to keep the memories from barreling through your mind. You grew up together, for so long. He was such a big part of your life that it’s almost incomprehensible that Lexa never got to meet him. Two of the people you love the most never knew of each other. “Halloween was our favorite holiday,” you tell Lexa.

 Lexa nods and closes the menu, seemingly settling in for you to tell a story.

 “We would spend weeks putting our costumes together,” you tell her. “And my dad, ever the engineer, would help us out. We dressed up as ghost-busters one year, complete with the backpacks. The real deal, too, not the inflatable stuff. My dad made them. My dad also promised Wells he’d build him a hover board one day for a Back To The Future costume.” Your throat feels tight, and Lexa lays her hand over yours on the table. It doesn’t hurt like it did before, but the ache is still there. You smile at her. “You know, my dad would always dress up with us when we were really little, and he would rope my mom into it too. I have like 8 solid years of Halloween family costumes in a photo album.”

 “I’d love to see that,” Lexa says.

 “My dad will probably bring out the baby pictures when you meet.”

 She looks nervous at the prospect, so when she changes the topic slightly, you let her.

 “I loved your costume last year,” she tells you, and you’re thrown in for a loop because you think of your last Halloween with Wells for some reason. “You know, dead Alice in Wonderland?” Lexa clarifies -you must have looked as confused as you felt.

 “It was zombie Alice,” you correct her. You guess there’ll always exist that disconnect, that before and after, and it’s okay.

 “It was hot,” Lexa says, and those words coming out of her mouth blow away the last of your dark mood.

 “Yeah? I thought you weren’t very fond of me back then.”

 “I still wasn’t blind, love,” Lexa tells you. “And I was fond of you back then. You just tested me often.”

 You remember the first few months of college, then constant partying that you’ve now winded down from. You used to get back drunk, or high, still flying with the thought of being in college, away from your parents and with all of -most of- your friends. You think for a while there Lexa was actually amused by your antics instead of annoyed, but you won’t tell her that now.

 “You really liked me back then?” you ask.

 Those first few weeks, you were sure she hated you. And then those last few weeks were amazing; truth be told, you miss rooming with her. You think of all the amazing things you could do if you had a whole room to yourselves now. Namely, sex.

 “I’ve always liked you, Clarke.”

 You give her a look, and she chuckles, embarrassed.

 “Okay, maybe I didn’t realize it at first. I was jealous of you, I think. You seemed so…carefree. I was in such a bad head space I resented you for that. You didn’t deserve it.” She looks up to you. “I’m sorry.”

 “You’ve apologized about it already,” you remind her.

 “I know, but I mean it.” She runs her thumb over your cheek, careless about the other people in the restaurant, and it sends tingles down your back. “I didn’t know how much I was going to love you.”

 

 .

  

You walk back to your building holding hands, and the night is warm enough that you can take it slow. Lexa pulls on your hand slightly, and you look up at her. She’s biting her lip, looking nervous.

“You know Anya is graduating next week…”

You nod.

You already have a dress for Commencement day. Octavia hasn’t stopped speaking about helping Bellamy find a tux because ‘he and his little boyfriend are both useless’, and your parents asked you already what could Bellamy want as a graduation present. It doesn’t dawn on you until now that Anya and Bellamy are on the same year, so of course, she’s graduating next week too.

“Gus is throwing her a dinner party of sorts,” Lexa mentions. “It’d just be us, and it’s okay if you and Bellamy already had plans but-”

“Yes.” You’re fully aware she hasn’t actually asked you anything yet, but the possibility makes your stomach clench.

“I’d really like you to meet Gus,” Lexa says, and you smile so wide it pulls at your lips.

“Yes,” you repeat. Gus is the closest Lexa has to an adoring parent, and you know what it means that she wants you to meet him. There will be no hiding and no pretending to be friends then. Gus knows about you two, and he approves, and Anya is…Anya. It’s a meet the family dinner, and if Lexa thinks it’s okay, then nothing is holding you back.

“Now I have something to ask you,” you tell her, stopping in front of her. “You know I’m going back to my parents’ for the summer. Come with me.” Lexa’s eyes widen. “After Anya’s party, come home with me for a few days. It’s only fair you spend time with them too.”

Lexa bites her lip.

“It’s been a month,” she mentions, as if you don’t know, as if that wasn’t stopping you until you realized time isn’t really worth shit, not when you feel like this. It’s been a month since you first kissed her, but your mind focuses more on the thousands of sunsets ahead of you.

This feels heavy. It feels permanent.

“I’ll meet your uncle Gus,” you tell her. “And we both know he’s what counts as a parent for you.” You smile encouragingly at her. “They love you already, Lex. If your heroics back in april weren't enough, I’ve told them all about you.”

“When?” Lexa asks with a smile.

“I can’t stop talking about you,” you say, embarrassingly honest. “My dad asked me if I’d just dropped out of college altogether and decided to major in Lexa Woods.”

You’d blushed when he’d said, but it didn’t sound half bad. You’re even more fascinated by this beautiful, complicated girl now, when you know every part of her, than when you didn’t know her at all.

“Okay,” Lexa concedes. You can’t do anything but kiss her under the streetlight.

 

 .

  

You sit on Raven’s bed, Lexa on one side and Raven on the other.

Octavia sits on the floor, in between Lincoln’s legs. She’s wearing the uniform already, her hair in a braided ponytail that Raven did earlier, but it’s still to early to go down to the field. You can see in the focused, tense lines of your friend’s face how anxious she’s over the game, and not even watching all of you down disgusting shots lightens her mood.

“It’ll be fine, Tae,” Lincoln tells her, kissing her cheek. She smiles, softer than you’ve ever seen her. You wonder if that’s how you look with Lexa. If you smile and melt into her every time she is near. You’d ask your friends if you didn’t already know the answer.

You look to your side, and Lexa smiles at you, tucking herself under your arm. You turn your head and Raven is looking at all of you with a small smile. She rolls her eyes, and you wonder if it makes her feel uncomfortable, being around her two best friends and the people they’re in love with, and having no one herself.

You know things with her old classmate, Wick, didn’t work out. You wish for her to find someone, if it’s what she wants. No one deserves it more.

“I just want to be playing already,” Octavia says, crushing a plastic cup.

“It’s almost five,” you say. “Only two hours to go.”

Not a minute later Octavia’s cell phone rings. Her eyes light up like a warrior’s at whatever the person on the line says.

“The team is heading down to the field, we got the okay to practice before the game.” She grabs her back, cleats hanging of it, and leaves before you even get up.

 

 

Octavia is vicious.

You’re all loosened up from the drinks, and have no qualms about screaming and cheering her on. Rather than making fun of you, you think that is what Octavia likes the most. You’re unwavering, loud support. Jasper’s made up insults to the other school are only the cherry on the cake.

A determined smirk stays on your friend’s lips for the last 10 minutes of the game, like she knows -as you all do- that they have it in the bag.

And five minutes later, when Octavia scores another goal -you kind of do.

 

 

Bellamy’s apartment is full to bursting when you get there.

All of your friends are there, even some people you’ve only met in passing, and some you haven’t met at all, probably piggybacking of the celebration to get some drinks. You lose Lincoln and Octavia right away, and hold Lexa’s hand so you’re not separated by the small crowd. (Bellamy’s apartment wasn’t meant to hold 40 people.)

You get you and Lexa beers, from the seemingly endless supply in the kitchen. Bellamy clearly went all out for his sister’s party, and there’s no shortage of booze, and to your surprise, snacks.

Someone turns out the lights, and you hear Lexa squeak.

“Easy, babe.” You laugh. She’s a little tipsy from earlier, and you’re getting there too.

“Attention!” You hear Bellamy’s voice boom. He stands slightly taller than everyone else, standing on the couch. “We are gathered here today to celebrate our very own champions!” There’s a large cheer, and you yell too, even if he sounds like he’s hosting a wedding ceremony. “It’s the last year of college for some of us-” there’s a boo from the crowd. “But! Thanks to my sister it has the perfect end! Congratulations, O,” Bellamy raises his beer to Octavia, who does the same, gathered under Lincoln’s arm. The crowd hollers for her. “So drink up! Have fun! And give one more round of applause for our team!”

Bellamy gets down from the couch, and suddenly colored lights inundate the place.

It could really be a club, with the strobe lights and the throng of people moving to the beat of the incredibly loud music that fills the space.

“Want to dance?!” You ask Lexa, and she nods.

Dancing turns out to be jumping with everyone else to the sound of the music, and soon enough you’re sweating, your hair sticking to your neck. Lexa’s hands is on your waist, and she laughs with her eyes closed, jumps with her head thrown back like she doesn’t have a care in the world.

It’s so beautiful it makes you dizzy.

The music changes, and you twirl Lexa around and bring her back against you, her back against your front. Your hands find a place on her hips, and you move with the beat of the music, subtly grinding against her. One of her hands sinks in your hair and you kiss her neck.

She stumbles a little, and you hold her up while she regains her footing.

“You okay?” you ask her.

“I’m amazing, Clarke,” she says, half lidded green eyes trained on you with an expression that makes you feel warm.

“Yeah, me too.”

 

 .

  

You wake up to Lexa throwing up.

She’s kneeling in front of the toilet, a hand holding her hair and the other desperately searching for purchase on the tiles.

“Oh, baby.”

You kneel behind her, and tie her hair up with the elastic around your wrist.

“Go,” she tries to say, but before you can argue and tell her you’re staying she lurches over and vomits again.

You wince in sympathy, and rub her hip with you thumb.

“It’s okay, let it out.”

Lexa makes a miserable noise, her forehead nearly laying on the toilet seat. You pull her back a little. You’re so focused on her you almost miss the sound coming from your room.

“Shit, someone’s knocking on the door. Give me one second.” You kiss the cold, sweaty nape of Lexa’s neck before you get up.

You don’t expect to see the woman at the door.

Anya stands there, face as impassive as ever, and you remember the last actual conversation you had with the woman. You promised not to hurt Lexa.

“Is Lexa here?” she asks.

You’re about to tell her she is when the sound of retching bounces off the tiles and into your bedroom. Anya gives you a withering look before walking past you and peering into the bathroom.

Lexa is somehow even paler than she was before, and you brush against Anya -to her annoyance- on your way to kneeling down beside Lexa. You wipe the sweat from her brow.

“What did you do to her?” Anya asks, frowning like she’s deciding whether to be concerned or not.

“It wasn’t Clarke,” Lexa pipes up, with the scratchiest, most miserable little voice. You can’t help but press a kiss against her sweaty forehead. She’s still defending you. “It wasn’t Clarke, it was vodka.”

Anya snorts, and you look up, surprised. You were expecting a reprimand, but Lexa’s cousin looks amused.

“You sorry little shit,” Anya says, half-smiling. “What happened to getting clothes for my graduation?”

“So- sorry,” Lexa manages to croak out. You look around the room to give her something to wipe her mouth with.

Anya throws you a hand towel. “I’ll be back in an hour.”

 

 

Lexa regains some color after taking an aspirin and thoroughly emptying out her stomach.

“I’m never letting you get that wasted again, regardless of how amazing it might feel,” you tell her, still rubbing her back.

She gives you a look.

“It wasn’t the alcohol making me feel like that, Clarke.”

 

.

 

“I can come get you at 10,” Lexa tells you. She lies next to you, your feet touching. You know it’s only a matter of time before you end up completely intertwined, and it has nothing to do with the limited space your bed offers. “The ceremony starts at 12 so we could go grab breakfast,” Lexa continues. “Or do you want us to meet up there?”

“I thought we could get ready together,” you tell her. “Raven and Octavia are getting ready at Bellamy’s apartment and I need help zipping up my dress. And I wanted to see you walk around in your underwear, prettying up,” you teaser her. You run your fingertips over the body part closest to you -her hand. “Are you going to curl your hair?”

Lexa is silent for a second.

“I wanted to surprise you,” she tells you softly, coming closer and nuzzling your neck.

You chuckle.

“Oh, the pitfalls of same-sex relationships,” you say. It’s one sort of comfort you never got with a guy -braiding your hair and suffering through cramps together and having someone to help with your eyeliner.

“How about you get ready out here, and I get ready in the bathroom?” Lexa offers.

“Fair enough,” you tell her. “Is that a no on the underwear?”

“You’ve seen me naked,” Lexa tells you, and you definitely don’t need the reminder.

“Not walking around. Can I see that?”

Lexa kisses you quickly, before getting up.  
  
“You’re obsessed.”

You won’t deny that, and neither could anyone whose girlfriend looks like yours. But it’s not just Lexa’s body, it’s her mind, her spirit -everything she is draws you in.

“Says you. You could be smothered by my boobs and you’d say nothing.”

Lexa blushes, but she still fires back. “I’d die happy.”

  

.

 

Something tickles. 

You swat your hand against the offending…whatever it is, and instead touch soft skin. Someone giggles.

 “Lex?”

 “Good morning,” she sing songs, and you groan. You could swear you’d just fallen asleep, after you and Raven and Octavia finished watching a movie. It must’ve been like…1am, but considering you didn’t have school the next day, you didn’t care. School was over and you could wake up whenever you wanted. You could go back to sleep right now. “Clarke.” 

You turn around to face Lexa, and sit up just enough to see she’s standing on a chair to reach your bunk bed, and there’s a dress bag on Raven’s bed. You’re so tired you’d almost forgotten about the commencement ceremony -except not really. There’s a box inside your underwear drawer that you’d never forget about.

 “What time is it?”

 “7.” 

You plop down in bed. 

“Clarke, come on.”

“Come on? The ceremony is at 12. Either get on this bed and sleep or be quiet miss.”

 “You’re never this grumpy in the morning.”

 “Because I’m waking up next to you,” you tell her. “But I won’t stand for this, Lexa.” You close your eyes and turn around, whispering ‘7am…the fuck’.

 “Clarke…” Lexa’s finger ghost over your back, and if she wanted you to wake up the soothing touch was no the way to go. “Don’t make me wake you.”

 “Yeah? And how would you do that?” You push her, hiding your smile against your pillow. The mattress dips with Lexa’s weight, and you turn around when you feel her swinging a leg over you.

 She sits down on your thighs, and you look up at her, effectively pinned down.

 “So, what’s it gonna be, tough girl? Are you gonna baby-karate me to death-”

 Her fingers come down on your stomach, unmercifully tickling you. You grab her hand to get her to stop, but she only pins them down above your head her other hand continuing its torture.

 “Okay, I’m up! I’m up!” you wheeze, your stomach aching with laughter.

 Lexa kisses the tip of your nose.

  

.

 

 Lexa walks out of the bathroom, giving a whole new meaning to ‘vision’. You’d thought it was cheesy before, describing women like an oasis of beauty, a vision bathed in light- but there’s little else in the english language that encompasses the way she looks. Except maybe heart-stopping fucking gorgeous.

You’re kind of glad of her idea of getting ready separately then, because it hits you all at once.

“Wow,” you exhale. She’s curled her hair, which falls in waves and ends in pretty ringlets past her shoulders. She’s wearing the little black dress she bought with Anya, and it hugs her body, long enough to be demure but short enough that you can appreciate those legs that seem to go on for miles. She blushes under your stare, though she studies you right back. You note with satisfaction how her eyes seem to stay on not exactly your eyes for a long moment.

“I have something for you,” you tell her, breaking the moment. You do have a graduation ceremony to get to- and you have an important thing to do. Your body thrums with nervousness, and you don’t know why. 

You turn around and take the red box out of your underwear drawer, and hear Lexa’s catch of breath when she sees what you’re holding. You pull the delicate necklace out from its box, and drape it over your hand, the pendant hanging freely.  
  
You hand it over to her, and she takes it reverently.  
  
“Clarke,” she says. “This…it’s beautiful.”

“I got it for you while you were at your father’s.” You smile. “I kept thinking, I wanted something permanent I could give you, that would remind you of me. And not some joke like a hickey or me texting you every half-hour-”

“I don’t mind. I love it.”

“So I saw this, and it reminded me of you. I know it’s cheesy-”

“No, it’s perfect.” She bites her lip. “Thank you.”

She holds the pendant, her eyes on the inscription delicately engraved on the metal.

“It’s-“

“Latin, I know,” she says. You roll your eyes, of course she does. “And I know ‘veni, vidi, vici’ means I came, I saw, I conquered. But… what’s this last word?” She asks, thumb rubbing over the last inscription. Amavi.

“I loved.”

She rubs her thumb over the pendant again, eyes watering. You never want to make her cry, but it’s not a bad thing today.

“Help me put it on?” she asks, and you take it from her hands, stepping behind her to fasten it around her neck.

You wonder if she’s thinking of her old necklace, Costia’s memento mori that she used to always carry around. You don’t want to replace her memories, but you want Lexa to have some good ones always close.

“There,” you say, letting her long hair fall around her shoulders. She steps in front of the mirror hanging from your bathroom door, and you step behind her. She touches her necklace, and wipes her eyes with the tips of her fingers, careful of not ruining her makeup.

“Thank you,” she tells you, voice strong again.

“No, thank you.” You kiss her cheek.

  
.

 

You cry a little when Bellamy gets up there to pick up his diploma.

The entire row you’re sitting in erupts with hollers and claps, and you think maybe it doesn’t matter to him that no other family but his sister is there for him, because this is what family actually means.

The B from Blake grants you enough time to dry your tears and compose yourself before you’re tearing up again, simply because Lexa is tearing up, when the W rolls around and Anya accepts her diploma.

Lexa looks so incredibly proud, and you put your arm around her and squeeze her waist.

You’re only freshmen still, but you get a clear picture of both of you up there in a couple more years. You want her to be as proud of you as you know you’ll be of her.

 

.

 

After the ceremony is over you separate for a little while, while Lexa finds Anya and you hug the breath out of Bellamy.

“I’m so proud of you,” you tell him, hugging him again, and he lifts you off the floor.

His eyes light up when he looks behind you, and you step aside so he can meet Murphy.

“Well, go on,” you encourage him, and look around, searching for Raven.

You don’t fin her, but you do see Lexa, walking towards you with Anya, a tall bearded man by their side. Your stomach swoops, because you recognize her uncle, and you were supposed to meet him tomorrow, not right now. They walk up to you, and you swallow your nerves.

“Clarke,I’d like to meet my uncle,” Lexa says. “Gus, this is Clarke. Clarke, my uncle Gustus.”

The man extends a hand to you, and you grab it, feeling dwarfed by its size.

“Augustus Woods, a pleasure to finally meet you,” he says, and his voice is as deep as you imagined. “My, you’re just as lovely as our Lexa Rexa said.”

You perk up at the nickname, and Lexa blushes.

“Gus,” she admonishes below her breath.

“Clarke, Lexa tells me you accepted our invitation for tomorrow night?”

You nod, smiling. “Yes, I’ll be honored.” Something about him makes you feel at ease.

“Wonderful. So, party tonight, dinner with the family tomorrow. Is that right Anya?”

“You insisted, old man,” Anya tells him, and there’s a fond smile in the stoic girl’s face. “That’s not conductive to guilt tripping.”

“I’m not! I remember what it is to be in college.”

“Yeah, sure,” Anya says. “I’m going to go suck up to my friend’s parents now, okay? I’ll catch you later.”

Anya walks away, and your glad that Lexa comes to stand at your side, intertwining your arms together.

“So, Clarke,” Gustus says. “Lexa tells me you’re an art major.”

“Yes, I…” You’re at a loss on what to say. “I guess I’m kinda still figuring out what to do with that.” You don’t think it’s a good answer when meeting your girlfriend’s family, but he simply nods knowingly.

“I understand. But you’re young, time is what you have.”

“Gus!” Anya calls him from afar, and he waves to some people.

“Excuse me,” he tells you, before shaking your hand again. “I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”

He kisses Lexa’s cheek before hugging her. He’s so tall she has to go on the tips of her toes, and for some reason the sight warms your heart.

You hear Gustus whisper in Lexa’s ear. “Pace yourself, Lexa. We don’t want a repeat of the other day.”

You look away, wishing he doesn’t think you’re a bad influence on Lexa.

She grabs your hand.

“He seems sweet,” you tell her.

“Don’t be fooled by the beard or the tattoos, he’s a huge softy,” Lexa says with a smile.

“You really love him,” you note.

She nods.

“I missed him.”

 .

 

 

The graduation party at Bellamy’s is not as crowded as the game’s after party.

It’s only you and your usual gang of friends, plus a few significant others like Maya, that girl from your art class, who you’re surprised to see clinging to Jasper’s arm. There’s music, of course, at first, but before 12 it’s just you sitting around in the living room, telling stories and drinking.

Lexa lays her head on your shoulder, and you drop a kiss to her head.

There’s a certain nostalgia in the air, now that the school year is officially over. No more games or ceremonies to delay the inevitable, the packing and going back home for the summer. For Bellamy, finding an actual job.

It’s kind of sad, that you won’t have this anymore if he moves, and if he doesn’t, that it won’t be the same. It’s the last night all of you have as equals before life pulls you in different directions.

Tomorrow, you’ll finish packing up your bedroom and go home with Lexa. Raven will spend time with her mom and you’ll have to visit her as well. Octavia will stay with Lincoln and his mother for a bit. Bellamy will go off to be an adult. You have legitimately no idea what Jasper and Monty will get up to, but you won’t be there to see it. You’ll go home to your parents, and you’ll spend a summer of going back and forth between your house and Lexa’s, inevitably missing her some of the time.

For the first time, you’re not craving summer.

For the first time, sitting with your friends and the girl you love amid laughter and games, you wished time would slow down. You wish it stopped, a perfect picture of a time when you were perfectly, beautifully happy.

But time waits for no one.

 

.

 

“Don’t be a bitch and pick up your cell phone.”

“We love you too, O,” Raven tells her, and she pulls the both of you into a hug. Indra -Lincoln’s adoptive mother- is here already, and waiting for Octavia.

“I mean it. Clarke, step away from the gay shit that is your life for a second and text me. And Rae, if your mom-”

“I know I can count on you,” Raven tells her, then looks at you. “On both of you.”

“I’m going to miss you, guys,” you say, and it’s ridiculous that you’re tearing up, but you are.

“We’ll talk all the time,” Raven promises. “And I’m coming back in July! Let’s not be stupid.”

“We’ll both be back in July,” Octavia affirms. She’s spending two weeks with Bellamy after her time with Lincoln’s family. And after that, you’ll spend your summers as usual. It’ll be fine.

“I’ll be waiting,” you say, voice rough, and you hug each other.

It’s how you three started your freshman year of college, and it’s how you end it. Together. You were right, before. This is what family means.

 

 .

  

You squeeze the last of the contents of your closer in the bag that lived under Raven’s bed since the last time you visited your parents, and with it your job of packing is finished.

 Raven left an hour ago to get to her mom’s in time for dinner, and you’re left alone with the rest of your stuff and the white, empty walls.It’s amazing how easily you can erase an entire year in just a few hours, but at least you know that next year it’ll be waiting for you.

 You jump with the sound of the door opening, and Lexa barges in, smiling widely.

 “Hey.” You tilt up your head for a kiss, and Lexa pulls your lower lip into her mouth.

 “I have something to tell you,” Lexa says. “Gustus, Anya, and I are visiting Luna during break. Two weeks.” She smiles at the news, and you smile for her.

 “That’s fantastic!” 

“I haven’t seen her since we were 13,” Lexa tells you. And you’re going to miss her for the time she’ll be gone, but she looks so ecstatic at the new you can only be happy for her.

 “It’ll be great, you’ll see,” you tell her. “Are you all packed?”

 “Gus is picking Anya’s shit up,” Lexa says. “But I’m ready, we can go.”

 “Dirty mouth. Since when do you curse?” You chastise. “Don't try to seem like a bad-ass in front of me, Miss Woods. You cry when you come.”

 She ducks her head, blushing, and you grin.

 “Who says those mutually exclusive?” Lexa fires back.

 “Touché.”

 You pack up your things in the car, and hold Lexa’s hand while she drives.

 Now that it’s here, you can’t wait for summer to begin.


	26. june, part 1

Lexa squirms.

You look straight on, your hand innocently resting on her knee as she drives. 

“Clarke, I’m driving,” she tells you, but you know her tells. Her lips remain pressed in a line too tight to be natural. 

“I know you’re driving,” you say. “You’re doing a great job…driving.” Your thumb brushes over her knee and then the inside of her tight. Lexa gulps. 

“We’re going to crash,” she says. 

But she hasn’t said stop, so you don’t. 

When Lexa squeezes her legs together, though, you decide you’ve been cruel enough. You kiss Lexa’s cheek and take your hand away.

 “So, how’s Gustus’ house?” You ask, as if nothing had gone on.

Lexa pouts, her cheeks pink. She still looks so affected you’d like to give it another go. Maybe higher up this time. 

“It’s pretty small,” she says, finally. “Cozy.” 

“And I’m thankful for that.” Lexa told you you’d be sharing Anya’s room, while Anya would be taking the couch. 

“The two rooms are upstairs,” Lexa says, “and the bathroom, everything else is downstairs. There’s a backyard with a little pool.” 

You fake a gasp. “So am I going to get to see you in a bikini?” And maybe you’re acting like a horndog, but you think you understand Octavia a bit better now. It’s going to be hard being apart from Lexa for so long at times during the summer, when you’re so used to having her near. Holding her hand, kissing her, touching her, sex…all facets of intimacy with Lexa have become so vital to you, you have no idea how you’ll get by with only a date or two each week and skype. 

“My bathing suit is a one-piece, but nice try.” 

You laugh, but you cry a little inside. 

You rest your hand on the center console, and Lexa grabs it, doesn’t let go until she has to shift gears. 

She tells you about Gustus, when she was a little girl. How big he had always seemed, especially next to her father. How hard it was to believe they were brothers. She tells you how Gustus listened to her, gifted her legos and spaceships and how his presents were always the coolest because they were so unexpected. 

She jumps ahead in time, those years you know they were apart because Lexa’s father didn’t want his gay brother around his child. 

She tells you how Gustus made her feel so validated, how he helped her grieve Costia. How his house became a safe heaven of sorts. How she wasn’t the first to find that. 

“Anya has been living with him since she was 14, after her mom died. He’s like a father more than an uncle.” 

You hear the unsaid words, how she wished Gustus was her father too. You like the man already, even when you’re not always easy to warm up to people. And it’s not that he was obviously nice when you first met, or even that he lent Lexa a tent that one time and indirectly made your spring break so much better. 

You like him for everything he’s done for Lexa. For that glint in her eyes when she speaks of her family, in a way that’s not tense or tainted. 

You are so glad Lexa has Gustus. 

 

.

  

Lexa pulls up to a brown, narrow two story home, in a quaint little street somewhere in Cape St. Claire, Annapolis. 

Despite living close by in D.C, you never did much internal tourism, apart from the camping trips your dad was fond off when you were little, and a trip or two to the white house in elementary school. You’re actually excited not only to spend time with your girlfriend this summer, but to take her up on her promise to show you around her uncle’s hometown. 

You get a feeling you’ll be spending quite a bit of time outside of your own home this summer, and it couldn’t bother you less. 

Gustus is out the door before the car is even parked, and he envelops Lexa in a hug even though he saw her yesterday. You smile. 

He welcomes you similarly, and it’s like hugging a bear, but you don’t mind. 

The house is small, but homey. Everything is done in dark wood colors, with splashes of orange here and there, and your artist’s eye enjoys the place. It’s clearly been looked after with such care. 

You climb up creaky stairs to a narrow hallway, and Lexa lets you in the first door. 

It’s a small room, with white walls and a small window letting the afternoon light in. There are twin beds, one on either side of the room, and Lexa definitely didn’t mention that. 

“Gus was really great to me,” she says, putting her overnight bag on the bed closest to the window. “When I started spending more time here he bought me a bed, so I’d be comfortable when I visit.” 

You put your duffel bag on the other bed. 

Anya steps inside before you can ask about sleeping arrangements. 

If you thought Lexa’s cousin was intimidating before, it’s nothing compared to being with her inside such a reduced space. She gives you a look, and you meet her eyes. 

“Come on, you two, the food is almost ready.” 

Lexa chuckles when Anya leaves, grabs your hand and drags you out of the room, and you’re miffed. 

Anya is just fucking with you, and Lexa likes it, the traitor. 

 

.

  

”After high school I wanted to work, not go to college,” Anya tells you. “So I took a sabbatical. And the popes here bought me a motorcycle.” 

“All I want is for you girls to be happy,” he says, and you can tell he means it. 

”You giant ball of fluff,” Anya says, and both Lexa and Gustus laugh. You notice Gustus closes his eyes when he laughs hard, just like Lexa. And his laugh may be boisterous and loud while Lexa’s is sweet and airy, but there’s no denying they’re related. 

It fits, you think. Much like her laugh, she seems to get happiness from him. 

Gustus’ food is amazing. It makes you miss your father’s cooking. You took good, homemade meals for granted and you realize that, after a year of cafeteria food that tried but just wasn’t the same. 

Everything about his home is homely and cozy, from the food to the color scheme, and you’re about to ask about a piece of art you saw in the living room when a cough shakes you out of your thoughts. 

You’re sure it’s not bad, but since he is such a large man, Gustus’ coughing shakes the whole table. Lexa hands him a glass of water, while Anya pats him on the back. 

“Are you okay?” Lexa asks. 

“I’m fine.” Gustus wheezes. “Just working off a cold. And the food went the wrong way.” 

You frown. 

“I’m sorry,” you tell him, “but that didn't sound fine. It sounds like there’s fluid-” 

“I’m all right, Clarke.” 

“Gus,” Lexa says. “Clarke’s mom is a doctor-” 

“And I’ve been to the doctor,” he insists. “It’s just a cold. Now, Clarke, why don’t you tell me how did our Lexa here-” 

“Go from talking shit about you to looking like a human heart eyes emoji,” Anya interrupts, and you’re distracted by the way Lexa blushes, even as she throws Anya a warning look. 

You smile. 

You don’t torture Lexa too much with the story, just tell them a simplified version of how you fell for her, if there’s such a thing. Girl meets girl, the girls are roommates, girl hates girl. Girl realizes how wrong she was, and how beautiful the other girl is, and how friendship can bloom into more so fast, almost since the beginning, how it feels like it was meant to be. 

Gustus smiles, Anya fondly rolls her eyes, and Lexa holds your hand beneath the table. 

Gustus brings out a bottle of cider once you are all done with your food, and makes a toast to Anya. You are shocked to see tears in the woman’s eyes. She’s so stern, and you can tell even Lexa is surprised, because she leaves your side to squeeze Anya into a hug. 

You don’t feel awkward, witnessing the family moment. 

You’re just glad to be there. 

 

.

 

 

Lexa looks cute in her pajamas. It has nothing to do with the fact summer is firmly here and she wears the cutest, shortest pajama bottoms you’ve ever seen, but there’s something about seeing her at home here. It feels more intimate than the dorm rooms, even if you’ve been in this position already, a long time ago. Sometimes you forget you were roommates, how long a road you had to walk to get here. 

It’s also a little bit the shorts.

 

A knock sounds at the door, and you’re glad you decided against pouncing on her right then. 

Gustus sticks his head through the door, his presence filling up the room. 

“Just wanted to wish you girls a good night,” he says. “Clarke, if you need anything-” 

“Of course, thank you.” 

“Night,” Lexa tells him. 

He gives you both a warm smile. 

Gustus closes the door after himself, and you’re surprised when Lexa climbs into Anya’s bed, curls up with her back to you. 

“Lex?” Of course you saw the different beds, but you didn’t actually believe you’d be using them. “Are you for real right now?” 

“Clarke, we have an early morning tomorrow. Shh.” You swear you can hear the smile in her tone. 

“Are you seriously making me sleep by myself?” You ask, waiting for Lexa to break. 

“You’re a big girl, I’m sure you can handle yourself.” 

Your mouth falls open. Two can play that game. 

“Fine.” You climb into bed and resolutely stare at the wall, your back to Lexa. Your chest flutters, light and playful and happy. 

It doesn’t take 2 minutes for you to hear her bare feet padding on the floor. Suddenly a pair of arms are around you, squeezing. 

“Oh, so you want me now?” You ask, half-heartedly shaking Lexa off. 

She holds on tight, laughing. 

“I’m not holding you,” you say, stern. “You brought this on yourself.” 

“Clarke.” Lexa pushes the covers off you and presses her cold feet against your legs. You jump. 

“Lexa!” You refuse to laugh, but it’s so hard when Lexa is so damn gorgeous and good. You’re weak. “Move, you’re annoying me,” you say, biting your lip. 

She presses a kiss to your cheek and your shoulder and you have fight to hold back a smile. 

“Stop-” you say, and finally crack and laugh. 

You turn around and the next thing you know Lexa is burrowing herself between your arms. She’s warm and soft and you feel like you’ve been holding her like this for years. Your legs intertwine in the small bed.

“So who can’t handle herself again?” you ask teasingly, nudging your nose against hers. 

“I’d rather you handle me,” Lexa says, playful, and her lips are on yours before you can answer. Warmth immediately stirs low on your stomach, and that is simply not fair. You’d psyched yourself up for going indefinitely without sex, and this is going to kill you when it leads nowhere. 

But then Lexa’s hands are trailing down your back, curling over your waist, and going lower still. 

“Oh,” you utter, surprised. “Here?” 

Lexa looks ups at you, and you see nothing but playfulness and want in her eyes. 

“Let me lock the door,” she whispers, and the sound of her voice so low and secretive does something to you. It’s too hot under the covers. You kick them off just in time for Lexa to join you, ever so quiet, but the good sort. 

You don’t even take off any clothes. 

You stifle laughs and moans against each other’s lips, struggling to be quiet. You struggle to keep it down but it’s so hard when Lexa straddles you, her pajamas betraying the hardness of her nipples. The bed is old and it squeaks when you move, so you force yourself to keep your hips still and not help. You manage much better than Lexa when it’s her turn.

You stop at times, a little to tease her, a little because you swear you hear someone coming up the stairs. You stare at each other with mirroring wide eyes, and your hand, the one not inside her underwear, covers her mouth so she doesn’t make a sound. It’s exhilarating and a bit wrong and you feel like a teenager, which you guess you are, still. Lexa’s heart pounds underneath her shirt, but you stare in wonder when you find no discomfort in her eyes.

You just see a girl who wants you, who loves you, who can’t quite wait to show you how much. You can relate.

It was her idea, after all.

 

 .

 

You’re warm and comfortable when you wake up. 

You’re alone in the bed, and a faint trace of sunlight comes in through the window, a testament to how early it is. You throw on a hoodie, Lexa’s or yours, you’re not sure, and make your way down the stairs. 

You stop at the middle, the house so small you can see Lexa milling about in the kitchen with Gustus, making breakfast. 

You love getting a chance to watch Lexa from afar, even if she thinks you’re weird for it. You’re an artist. And there’s a sort of quiet admiration you have for her, for her beauty, for the way she acts when she’s unconcerned and unencumbered and doesn’t know anyone’s watching. You’ve stopped and stared in the middle of her dorm room when she’s deep in homework. Concentration gives Lexa this line between her brows. And now, relaxed in her uncle’s house, happiness pulls at her cheeks without her noticing. 

You sit on the stairs quietly, grabbing the moment. It’s such an open space you’re surprised sound carries on as well as it does.

“That’s one beautiful girl you got there, Lexa,” Gustus tells her, and you feel your cheeks warm. It’s a little like intruding in their moment, but not enough for you to leave. You wonder about your girlfriend’s next words.

 “She’s so much more than that,” Lexa says. 

“Does she treat you well?” Gustus asks, passing Lexa the carton of eggs. Lexa almost misses grabbing it while she gets that line, the concentration one. 

“Yes,” Lexa says firmly. “She’s…She’s…” You frown, but Gustus smiles knowingly. 

“What?” Lexa asks. 

“That’s it.” 

“What?” 

“When you cant even describe how amazing they are, when you can’t really explain the way you feel. That’s how you know it’s real.” Something aches in your chest at Gustus’ words, and now you do feel like you're intruding in a private moment, but you can’t find it in yourself to get up and interrupt. “I’m proud of you, Lexa,” he says. 

Lexa’s face lights up at the words, like she wasn’t told that very often. You resolve to do it more. You're so proud of her, she’s just, she’s so good. 

“Are you proud that I got a girlfriend?” Lexa asks. 

“No. That you’re fighting to be happy.” Gustus smiles at Lexa, and you find your the corners of your mouth pulling up too. “Lexa Rexa,” Gustus growls, laughing, and steps in to hug Lexa. 

And Lexa, slender, strong Lexa…she looks so tiny in Gustus’ arms, so young. It makes your heart hurt in the best way. You smile, wide, unbidden. 

“Ok, Clarke, you can come down now!” Gustus exclaims, and you jump from your place in the stairs. Lexa’s cheeks flame up as she catches sight of you. 

“Good morning,” you say, a little sheepish at being caught, but Lexa just meets you in the middle and kisses your cheek gently. 

“Morning,” she says, pulling away. 

“Wait, a bit more.” Your fingers brush the nape of her neck, and you give her time to pull away, but she leans forward and you bring her to your lips. The kiss is short, but sweet. 

You both pull away, and you pretend to think about it before requesting ‘more’ in a low voice.

You kiss her full on the mouth, once. 

Anya walks down the stairs, her boots announcing her presence before her voice calls out. 

“Jesus, my eyes.” 

Lexa jumps away from you, laughing, and pushes Anya when she walks by next to you. She stills gives you one last kiss before you all head to the kitchen to have breakfast.

 

.

 

The rest of the day goes by fast after that. 

The pool isn’t clean enough for you to go swimming, but Gustus promises to fix it up for the next time you visit. You’re already thinking about that. You spend a quiet afternoon watching TV and talking about the school year, and you feel like you fit there.

Even Anya is extremely pleasant, and you think you could be friends, eventually. You’re not planning on letting go of Lexa any time soon, and she’s the closest your girlfriend has to a sister. Eventually Gustus retires to his bedroom, joking about being an old man who needs an afternoon nap.

You pack up the few things you unpacked and load them to Lexa’s car, sad that the visit was so short but still craving going home to your own parents. You and Anya call for pizza while Lexa goes to wake up her uncle, and you inhale three slices each before you have to get back on the road. 

Lexa holds her uncle so tight when you’re about to leave that you almost feel bad for asking her to visit your parents with you, but the reminder that she’ll be spending two weeks with him and Anya makes you a little selfish. You deserve Lexa to yourself for a little while. 

She says goodbye to Anya, and you’re surprised when Gustus pulls you aside. 

“You’ll take good care of Lexa, won’t you?” He asks, and you don’t know why you blush. 

“Of course,” you say, though you don’t understand his wording. 

“Of course, I can tell. You…you look at her how I used…” he trails off. “I can tell,” he repeats, and then gives you a hug. You’re a little perplexed, but you don’t mind at all. 

Lexa insists on driving even when you offer to do it, and you keep your hands to yourself this time. It’s late enough that getting handsy could have consequences, so you don’t distract her, apart from talking every once in a while so she doesn’t fall asleep.

There’s a bit of traffic on the highway, and it’s late when your get to D.C. 

Your house looks like it’s always looked, the same color of paint and the same missing bricks on the garden on the front that your father has sworn he’ll fix since you were in middle school, but that you secretly think he likes. 

The light is on downstairs, and you get out as soon as Lexa parks. 

You don’t have to knock on the door because your dad is opening, and you jump into his arms as easily as you did when you were a little girl. 

“Daddy!” 

He hugs you tight, sways you from side to side and you missed this, didn’t think of how hard living away would be until you did it. You missed your dad’s strong arms and his cologne. 

He lets you go in time for your mom to wrap her arms around you. 

“Mom,” you say, returning the embrace. You’ve missed her too. You hug her tight, and this is new, it’s better than where you were this time last year. She pulls awat after a moment, then brushes your messy hair away from your face.

You’re home.

You turn to Lexa. 

She’s watching you with a smile, her hands clasped in front of her. You don’t want her to feel weird so you go over and grab her hand.

 “Mom, dad, you remember Lexa.” 

“It’s good to see you again,” your mom tells her, and they shake hands.

 “Lexa, of course, how to forget our daughter’s hero,” your dad offers her his hand, and you blush almost as hard as Lexa does.

 “Jake,” your mom chastises him. Lexa does this thing you secretly love, where she leans on you a little, on your shoulder, your hands clasped between you.

 “Let me help you with your bags,” your dad says, and you follow your mom into the house.

 “So girls, do you want something to eat?”

 “Lex?” She shakes her head. “I think we’re okay, we ate something at Lexa’s.”

 “Good, then.”

 “Excuse me, Mrs.Griffin, could I use your bathroom?” Lexa asks, the first thing she’s said since you got there, now you realize.

 “Of course, honey, right at the end of the hallway on the left. And call me Abby.”

 You let go of Lexa, and your dad walks in with both Lexa’s overnight bag and your own massive suitcase from college. Neither of you believe in two trips.

 “And whereever shall I put this?” He asks, and you roll your eyes.

 “It’s okay if we share my room right?”

 “Sure,” your dad says.

 “It’s nice that you asked,” your mother points out.

 “Well, I'm a good daughter,” you say. Your dad puts your bag down and presses a kiss to your forehead.

 “Yeah, you are.”

 Lexa’s dead on her feet, you can see that as soon as she comes back, the little baby hairs that have escaped her ponytail wet from the water she must have thrown on her face.

 “I think we’re going to head up to bed right away if you guys don’t mind,” you tell your parents. “It was a long drive.”

 “Of course, baby,” your dad says.

 “Arm I going to find laundry to be done in that suitcase?” your mom asks, and you give her a sheepish smile before you grab Lexa’s bag from your dad and pull her towards the stairs.

 Your room is as you left it, now thankfully devoid of your parent’s stuff they like to store here, and you thrown yourself face first on your bed. Lexa shyly follows after you, and you climb on top of her when she does.

 “Are you tired, babe?” You ask.

 “So tired,” Lexa mumbles, her beautiful green eyes fogged over and almost bloodshot.

 “I should have driven here,” you tell her, and she closes her eyes.

 “I wanted to drive,” she says. “Keeps my mind busy.” She looks at you. “I’m spending time with your parents, can’t be anxious. I… would have just spent the drive over thinking everything.”

 You nod. It’s so easy to forger what Lexa deals with it.

 “You’re okay, right?”

 “Mhmn,” Lexa nods, closing her eyes. Her hands run over your back and one lays on your butt. “More than okay.”

 You laugh and kiss her neck.

 You both barely manage to take of your jeans before you fall asleep.

 

 .

  

 

You convince Lexa to save water and shower with you, and you thank God and whoever sold your parents this house that you have your own bathroom, because she agrees. 

You’ve never actually showered with anyone, and it’s not sexy, you don’t even have time or the inclination to have sex at the moment, since both your stomachs are protesting the lack of food in them, but it’s nice. 

You’ve seen Lexa’s body before, you’ve kissed and sucked and ghosted your lips over nearly every part of it, but there’s something different about seeing her in the shower, in the early morning, under the white lights of the bathroom. 

It feels blatantly intimate and human and real. 

You shower together, still a little sleepy, and throw water on her face so she splutters and laughs. She helps you soap up your back, and after so much time in a car since you left campus, you need it. You return the favor. 

You brush your teeth side by side. 

You climb down the stairs a solid forty-five minutes after you wake up, and your mom is in the kitchen already. 

Lexa tenses up slightly next to you, but you hold her hand. 

“Good morning, girls,” your mom greets you, and you walk to the breakfast island. 

“Good morning,” Lexa says. “And I apologize about last night, Mrs.Griffin, I didn’t say hello properly.” 

“It’s fine, Lexa, you were tired.” Your mom points the spatula she’s holding to the seats. “Sit down, please.” 

You haven’t seen your mom cook in ages, but there’s a steadily growing pile of pancakes in a plate, and you file away this morning as one of the best you’ve had in a long time. 

“So, Lexa. What are you studying?” Your mom asks over her shoulder, her attention on the stove. “Clarke mentioned you were a double major.” 

“English and Political Science, m’am,” Lexa says, and you almost snort at m’am. You grab hold of Lexa’s hand, where your mom can’t see, and squeeze. 

“That’s impressive,” your mom says. “That must take up a lot of your time.” 

Lexa shrugs. “It’s okay.” 

“Well, take care of yourself,” your mom says, ever the doctor. “Overworking is never a good idea.” 

Lexa seems taken aback by your mom’s line of thinking, and you wonder -no, you know- her parents are the reason she’s a double major in the first place. You’re glad Lexa is getting along with your mom. 

“So I keep telling her,” you say. 

“Playing hooky is not a good idea either,” Lexa says, and you gasp. Well, if she’s going to throw you under the bus like that- 

“Clarke was conceived while her mom and I played hooky from work,” you hear your dad’s voice say, coming down the stairs, and internally groan. 

“Dad.” 

“True story. Now wasn’t that a good idea?” 

He walks around to where you are, and kisses your forehead in greeting. 

“Stop. Stop it.” 

“I’m on your side here, Clarkey.” 

“Jake!” Your mom exclaims. “I reviewed our job description, embarrassment is actually not listed there.” 

“Really?” your dad asks. “I would’ve sworn it was. 19 years down the drain.” 

You roll your eyes. Lexa looks on, amused. 

“Morning,” your dad tells your mom, and leans down to kiss her. You meet Lexa’s eyes and pretend to gag, but she looks almost sad. 

“Good morning, Lexa,” your dad says. “Good morning honey,” he tells you. “Good morning kitchen my girls didn’t burn down while making breakfast,” he says, spreading his arms open. You roll your eyes. 

“That was one time,” you say. 

“Father’s day of 07.,” he tells Lexa, his tone conspiratorial as he relays the story. “Little Clarke thought she’d make her dad breakfast. The neighbors ended up calling the firemen. Now, Clarke didn't actually wake me up, so when I came down there were firefighters all over my living room, my daughter was nowhere to be seen, and Abby was just walking through the front door after a night shift and asking me what had happened, as if I had any idea.” 

Your mom covers her forehead with her palm, laughing quietly, and even Lexa smiles. You blush, feeling like you’re being ganged upon by your whole family and your girlfriend. 

“Oh, Lexa,” your father continues. “I remember a Christmas, Clarke must have been like 11 -her mom tried to make turkey-” 

Your mom pinches your dad’s arm, and you laugh. 

“Ouch. I’m telling a story, honey.” 

“Why don’t you tell that story about the time you almost broke down the door of a rented cabin because you hadn't tried the knob to see it was open, “ your mom suggests. 

“I… don’t want to tell that story,” your dad says. 

“I can empathize with that feeling,” your mom tells him. Lexa laughs out loud, and you can do nothing but stare.

“Can I have some bacon?” your dad begs. “My beautiful wife, mother of my child?” 

“Only if you say please.” 

“Please.” Your parents kiss again, and you can’t help but imagine, to wonder, if that’s where you’re going. “Should I make coffee?”

 “Please.” 

Lexa looks a little wistful, but you don’t know if it’s for the same reasons as you.

 

.

 

 

You help your dad with the dishes.

There’s a long standing rule in your house that whoever cooks is free from cleaning, so you wash and your dad dries. Lexa went upstairs, your mom is on her phone with the hospital -you wouldn’t be surprised if she has to leave for a surgery- and this is the first real alone time you’ve had with your dad in ages. 

“So, how serious is it?” It’s the first thing he asks. “This is the first time you've willingly brought someone home to meet the terrible parents.” 

You roll your eyes. “Don’t fish for compliments,” you tell him. “And what about Brian?” You ask, remembering your first boyfriend back in 10th grade. 

“We found him sneaking out at 6am and invited him to stay for breakfast,” your dad reminds you, and you wince, even years later. It’s true, now that you really think about it. You never had Brian over if you could help it. You and Mia, for those few months you dated back in senior year, you were never invited to her house and you never asked her to yours.  It wasn't like that.

 It has never been like this.

 “It’s just never felt like this with anyone,” you tell your dad, shrugging, trying to keep your mind on washing plates.

 “You’re really smitten aren’t you?” he asks.

 And you think that’s the word, though it could definitely be used. This ache you get in your chest when you look at Lexa, face lax in sleep, when you kiss her, every blessed moment that you get to feel her heart beating fast underneath your hands...

 “I’m in love with her, dad.”

 It feels important, telling one of your parents. So you do.

 Your father stares at you, a gentle look on his eyes.

 “Stop looking at me like that,” you plead, feeling warmth in your cheeks. “I’m going.”

 “You don’t have to go, I'm sorry!”

 You dry your hands.

 “I’m checking on Lexa. Bye.”

 You run out of there, smiling.

  

.

  

The afternoon is not a quiet affair. 

Your mom gets called in to work but she pulls a few favors to stay home with all of you, which you appreciate, it makes you thinks will really be better. 

Your parents want to hear all about the school year, and soon enough Lexa joins in, and then they’re relaying their school years, and it’s hours of laughing and complaining about difficult professors. (”That would not be difficult if you just studied. You’re just like your father in that aspect.”) (”See, Abs? It’s not the kid’s fault!”)

 Then Raven texts you, and Octavia calls, and your parents offer to make your favorite for dinner.

 Lexa’s mother calls, too.

 You’ve just walked into your bedroom when her phone lights up, and everything in Lexa stops. She takes a breath and answers and lies through her teeth. She tells her mom  all about how she and Anya are cleaning out Gustus’ pool. It leaves a bad taste in your mouth, but you're quick to get over it. You want what’s best for Lexa, and you’ve made peace with it.

 You still signal to her that you’ll be downstairs, and leave your room.

 You walk down the stairs, and decide to get out of the house for a little while.

 There’s a seat right outside, on the porch. Your dad and you put it up when you were in elementary school. Your mom always wanted a spot to read and watch the sunset, and so for mother’s day you two decided to build it. It lasted all of three weeks before one side broke, with you mother on it, and your dad hired a professional to put it up again.

 You sit down.

 The sky is light blue and bleeding into orange, the most intense colors disappearing behind the houses on the other side of the street. It’s such a different location, but sunsets and sunrises are always the same beautiful colors. It reminds you of spring break, of the beach at first light, of watching this view sitting next to Lexa.

 It’s been such a little yet such a long time.

“What’s my favorite artist thinking about?”

Your father stands at the door. He has always given you your space, but more often than not you prefer him next to you.

You shrug as an answer to his question.  
“I didn’t mean to make you feel awkward, this morning,” your father says, and you shake your head, patting the seat next to you in invitation.  
“I’d just never been in love before,” you say. You know it as firmly as you know the sky is blue and that gravity keeps you grounded. You’d never felt like this before, and you’re hard pressed to think you ever will again.

“How does it feel?” Your father asks. Suddenly, tears sting your eyes.

“Oh, baby.”

“This is stupid. Why am I -why am I tearing up?” You wipe at your eyes and swallow down the feeling. It’ s ridiculous, it feels like your chest is so full that the pressure wants to escape through your eyes.

“Love makes us emotional,” your dad says. “I still can’t believe it when your mom gets home from work, and I get to cook her dinner,  we watch TV together…I feel as lucky as I did 25 years ago. And then I remember we actually made a baby who’s turned into just a big a sap as her father.”

He bumps his shoulder into yours, and you’re just very, very happy in that moment.

“I’m not a sap,” you argue, even as you lean your head on his shoulder.

“Says the girl crying because she’s in love with her girlfriend.”

“Something got in my eye, shut up.”  You laugh, and he kisses the side of your head.

 It’s been such a little yet such a long time. It's maybe all you need to _know_ , truly know.

“Hey, dad.”

“Yes, Clarke?”

“I’m going to be with her for the rest of my life.”

 “Yeah? You tell her that yet?”

“No. It’s going to be a surprise.”

  

.

 

 

 You go to sleep late that night.

 You have dinner and play board games afterward, and you and Lexa obliterate your parents at charades, though your dad wins at monopoly. When you head up to bed you’re both so tired you know there’s no chance of a quickie like you had at Gustus’ house, and it’s a shame, because you know Lexa is leaving in the morning, and you won’t see her in two weeks while she visits her cousin in Mexico. Your body knows.

 But you can barely keep your eyes open.

 You change into pajamas and face each other on the bed. You run the tip of your fingertip over her forehead, her brow, down the slope of her nose. Lexa scrunches up her face.

 Lexa, too, seems exhausted, but even with that, quieter than usual.

 “Is something bothering you?” you ask her softly, not wanting to break the atmosphere in your room. Your curl up on her chest, lay your head over her heart. Sometimes it’s easier for Lexa to speak if you can’t see her face, you’ve learned.

 It takes a while, but you don’t mind.

 “I'm going to be away for the anniversary of Costia’s…death. I’ll be in Mexico for the anniversary of her death.” She looks up at you. “I always leave flowers at the site of the accident. And her…her grave. I used to visit her a lot last year, but I haven’t been in months.

You’re already thinking of doing that for Lexa.

 Of bringing flowers to the girl Lexa loved, you’re already thinking of thanking her, somehow, for loving Lexa before you came along.

“When it is?” you ask. You can’t believe you’ve never asked before, but it never came up in conversation. It’s like a bruise on Lexa, and you don’t like to push it, to hurt her.

 “January 19th.” she says, and your entire body goes cold.

 It’s too much of a fucking coincidence.

 You know a 19th of January, too. 2014. A Friday, the last Friday of the school year when you were a sophomore. You know what happened and what it took from you and you never knew who it was, because the person was a minor, and the records were sealed, and the drunk driver who’d ran Wells off the road had died anyways, on impact.

 “Where…huh, where was it?” You ask, your lungs trying a failing to keep you breathing

“The accident?”

 “Yeah.” 

“I-95,” Lexa says. “Near the Banneker park.” And she’s still talking but you can’t think. Because it’s right there. It’s too much of a fucking coincidence, but it’s right there. “She was so far away from home it took hours for… for them to realize she wasn’t a local,” Lexa says. ”Took hours for them to call her parents and let them know.” Lexa curls up closer to you, but you feel uncomfortably stiff. “That used to keep me up at night, you know? That she’d been alone all that time.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, but you don’t mean it, you can’t mean it if that’s the girl that…the girl who…

You’re stupid. You’re an idiot. It’s too big of a coincidence, and you never asked, never even thought to ask.

 “Clarke?”

 “I’m fine.”

 “Clarke.” Lexa sits up, and you can’t hide your face from her anymore.

 “It’s okay,” Lexa says. “I’m - I’m better now, Thanks to you” she says, misunderstanding your tears. “It was so long ago.”

It’s true.

 It was so long ago, yes, but you feel the pain of Well’s death like it was yesterday. And now, now you’re sure Costia is the one who killed him.

 

.

 

You have trouble falling asleep. You keep quiet and promise Lexa you’re okay, and she’s so tired she doesn’t argue. She falls asleep, an  arm slung over your stomach. You don’t close your eyes. You know the Benjamin Banneker Park, where you and Wells used to play during winter. You knew it later, as the route Wells preferred to take to school and back.

 

You don’t want to face it, but you know it’s true, and you don’t know what to do with the knowledge of it.

 

Lexa is leaving in the morning and she doesn’t know, and Raven is with her mom and she was in the car with Wells and she doesn’t know, and you feel choked.

 

Before you realize it, the sun comes up.

 

You push it down, down and away. Why didn’t Lexa ever tell you, that Costia had…killed someone? Why didn’t you ever ask, when you knew you were both grieving around the same time? How is it possible, that with so many people and so many cities and so many accidents, this one would connect the two of you?

 

It’s too much to think about.

 

You push it down and let Lexa shower by herself while you help your dad with breakfast. You let him carry most of the conversation, and your stomach churns too badly for you to eat.

 

You feel Lexa’s eyes on you, but you can’t talk about it with her.

 

A million emotions fight inside of you, but part of you feels betrayed, somehow. Costia wasn’t a saint. She didn’t just make a mistake, she fucked up and took your best friend with her, and Lexa loved her. Lexa still cares.

 

Lexa touches your cheeks, asks you what’s wrong, and you shake your head.

 

“I’m going to miss you,” she says, and hugs you tight. You hug her back. You’ll miss her to, you can feel it in your bones. But it somehow feels heavier than a two-week trip.

 

You hold her head in your hands, your thumbs brushing over the apples of her cheeks. Her green, green eyes are trained on you, and you see everything in them. You can read her like a book, and though you hate the confusion there yo can’t make it better. You just tell her the one thing you’re sure of.

 

“I love you.”

 

You let her go.

 


End file.
